Eleven (21 page)

“I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

I shifted my position to face the door. I held my cell in my left hand and sheltered my face hoping it would dilute my voice. “I’m working.” I heard Paige say something about visiting more members of the church.

“All day and night?”

“It’s part of the job.”

“It’s late. You’re still working?”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Brandon.”

“Yes.”

“Take care out there.”

I hung up without saying another word to her. And the awkwardness of doing so transferred to Paige, who paused in the middle of speaking.

“You were talking about visiting more members of the church to see if anyone else was close with Bingham,” I prompted her to continue.

“Yes.” She studied my eyes, and somehow managed to penetrate them in the glow of the dashboard lights that filtered to the back seat. “Maybe some of them would know more about who he was close to if he mentioned anyone specifically.”

“Good idea.” Jack pulled into the parking lot of Betty’s Place for Paige and Zachery to pick up their SUV.

And somehow, it took until now for me to realize my other reason for a headache—lack of food. Just seeing the lights off in the restaurant made my stomach growl.

“You and Zachery visit those on the congregation list tomorrow. Slingshot and I will pay our new friend another visit.”

Paige and Zachery got out of the vehicle and I couldn’t help but think
why did I always have to talk with Bingham?

All I had wanted to do was peel myself out of my clothes and take a hot shower, but the lights of the hotel lobby summoned me in the search for a vending machine.

The night clerk sat behind the front counter, feet up on the desk, watching
Criminal Minds
. He didn’t look much older than twenty. The door chimed notifying him he had a customer; he nodded absent-mindedly.

“Just looking for something to eat.”

“Over there.” He pointed to a vending machine.

I studied my options which weren’t plentiful. A few types of chocolate bars, small bags of peanuts and packages of microwave popcorn, which had me wondering how that would sell seeing as the rooms didn’t have microwaves. Along with that was a couple varieties of chips—plain and nacho. Any other time, if I wasn’t so hungry, I’d take a pass on all of it. I reached into my pocket for some change, selected the peanuts and a
Snickers
bar.

“You’re one of the FBI Agents, ain’t ya?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I have mail for one of ya.” The guy walked to the counter. “Brandon Fisher.”

“That’s me.”

He extended a card-sized envelope, the same as the one sent to Bingham at the prison—the envelope that had contained my picture. I put the food on the counter and turned the envelope over. No return address. I looked at the front. No postmark. “Someone dropped this off?”

The guy shrugged, glanced back at his program.

“Do you know when?”

He shook his head.

“Do you have cameras in here?”

He gestured behind me toward a large one mounted in the corner of the room.

“I’ll need to see the footage.”

“You’ll have to speak to the manager in the morning.”

“Right now. Call them; wake them up. Now.”

The guy held up both hands in surrender. “K.”

His statement returned my eyes to the envelope I held in my hand. Even though I held it, and its contents were unknown, I knew whatever was inside wasn’t going to be good.
Call it a hunch
. “Call them. Now.”

He picked up the phone, pecked the buttons with his bony fingers. “He’s not going to be—” He stopped talking to me and spoke into the phone. “It’s Kyle…”

I heard him speaking, but his words blurred. Everything from the last three days merged.  Eleven rooms, ten bodies, one empty grave.
Confess your sins, and be forgiven. Don’t, and be punished.
The Redeemer was a new follower on Twitter, but he had reached out from cyberspace and became my stalker in the real world.

I worked a thumb under the seal of the envelope and tore open its length.

The hotel employee hung up. “He said it doesn’t work.”

“Great! Just great!” I grabbed the peanuts and bar from the counter, walked a few steps and spun around. “Who was working today?”

“Ellen, I think.”

“When’s her next shift?”

“She’ll be in at six.”

He spoke to my back and the chimes of the door. My heart beat rapidly. I stopped in front of the lobby, tucked the food under one arm and slipped the contents out of the envelope. Two pictures. When I realized of what, the food fell to the concrete.

Like kindergarten children, they were to be all tucked in and accounted for by eight. Lights went out at eleven. Bingham despised life behind bars. He lay on the top bunk, but he didn’t sleep.

His cellmate snored beneath him loud and deep enough to send vibrations through the metal frame. The inconsistent rhythm jackhammered into Bingham’s head, interrupting his thoughts at the peak of enlightenment.

Three years in this hell hole to date, two with this hog beneath him. Every night it was the same noise. The man seemed to fall asleep at the directing snap of fingers.

Bingham had never been that obedient. He didn’t see the merit in following the leading of another man. After all, who were they to guide him when they were imperfect sinners without recompense?

He had found a way to repentance through reconciling for others’ sins. His cellmate let out another loud snore. The man should fear sucking in his entire face with the depth of his inhalations.

Bingham took his arms out from under the cotton blanket that covered him. The fabric had gotten coarse from too many washing cycles.

He lifted his arms, intertwined his fingers and cracked all his knuckles at once. As each of them shifted into tighter alignment, he thought of those he had saved and those who were loyal to him despite adversity. He smiled.

I ran through the hotel parking lot. And as if I were in a nightmare the more I willed my legs to move the heavier they became. I reached Jack’s door and slammed the side of a balled fist repeatedly against it.

I heard him swear, but I didn’t think I woke him up. As I continued to knock, more voices came from inside and I assumed he was watching TV. He opened the door three-quarters of the way. No glow came from the TV.

He stepped around the door wearing a white t-shirt and gray boxers. He held his Glock 22 ready to fire if he didn’t like his late night visitor. “What the hell are you doing at my door?” The gun didn’t move.

I extended the photos along with the envelope. “This was dropped off today.”

He looked from my eyes to what I held out to him and lowered his gun.

“This is a picture of my house back in Woodbridge. And that—,” I rearranged the photos to place the other one on top, “—is my wife. I tried calling her, but she’s not answering.” I brushed past him into the room. “I need to get back there now.”

“Did they see who dropped this off?” Jack took the photos, held them at an angle, and looked at me. Something in his eyes told me he didn’t really want me in his room, and if it was anything but the current circumstance I’d be out on my rump.

“The security camera’s a dud. The lady who was on shift starts at six.” I couldn’t obtain a satisfying breath. All I could think about was Debbie being kidnaped, tortured and murdered. I thought of the circular graves, the empty one, the void begging for the unsub to fill it. I knew it was nonsense as there was no way they would ever gain access to Bingham’s property, but I also realized it could be repeated elsewhere. After all we knew files were being sent to us regarding similar murders in Sarasota.

Jack dropped onto the end of the mattress. I noticed then how the sheets were unkempt, pulled back and bunched up at the end of the bed. I remembered the voices I had heard earlier. Now inside the room the TV definitely wasn’t on. Maybe he shut it off before answering the door. I don’t know why, maybe it was the jittery way Jack was acting, the more accommodating manner, but I believed someone else was in this room.

But it wasn’t any of my business. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed home again. As the hollow rings repeated, they droned in my brain. I might never speak to her again. All I imagined was her captured and begging for life.

“Kid, we’ll head out first thing in the morning—”

“In the morning? She could be dead by then.”

“We’ll call the Prince William County PD, have them drive by the house, and check things out. We have to keep a level head.”

Prince William County PD covered Woodbridge.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Yeah I’m the boss. It’s my job. Besides running into Woodbridge, all hotheaded on a mission isn’t going to accomplish anything. You should know that.”

“You’re talking about how I came at the CSIs?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders. I realized another thing about Jack Harper; he never let anything go. He held onto it, good or bad, and used it as a grading chart against all future actions. Like my earlier mention of the Academy, and how it didn’t teach me an aspect about DNA, and suddenly I was a finger-pointer of blame.

“I’m going.”

“Okay, how do you know this isn’t another game, huh? Maybe Royster dropped this off before or after the photo to the prison. Besides the man’s dead.”