Eleven (36 page)

Robinson’s eyes darted to the end of the bed, to his feet.

“We’re not leaving until—”

“Behind the counter. I wasn’t going to shoot them.” He glanced at me, back to Jack. “I was just going to scare them. I swear.”

“You let an agent feel guilty over shooting an unarmed man.” Jack headed for the door.

“That’s not a crime,” Robinson called out behind us.

In the hallway, Jack perched a cigarette in his lips for a brief instant before pulling it out. “Robinson has the revolver registered in his name. Paige had Nadia pull the registry when they found strapping under the counter. Robinson just said the gun was behind the counter, but local PD said there wasn’t one.”

“Someone on the police force took it? But why?”

“Questions that need answers, Kid. We’ll start by talking with the Chief of Police.”

CHAPTER 35

The Sarasota Police Station was a modern building of architectural wonder. Its many windows allowed sunlight to stream in creating a bright, uplifting interior. The periwinkle blue used as an accent on the exterior took up a solid presence in the lobby where the front face and wall of the reception area was painted the same color.

The female officer sitting behind the window watched the four of us approach. She offered a sincere smile. “Can I help you?”

Jack held up his creds. “We need to speak with the Chief of Police.”

“Brennan’s not in today.”

“We need to reach him.”

She took a business card from a plastic display that was kept on her side of the glass and extended it to Jack. “It has his cell listed there.”

Jack took it but never looked at the card. “What about Sergeant Haynes?”

Sergeant Haynes was the superior in charge of the officers who came to The Pawnshop. He was the one Paige was put in touch with to arrange for the backup.

“He’s here.” She dragged out her words in such a way they somehow contained a question. She picked up her phone and dialed an extension. “You have someone here to see you…okay.” She hung up. “He’ll be right down.”

Minutes later, a far door opened and he stepped out. “Agents.”

I remembered him clearly from yesterday. He had walked through the door to The Pawnshop after the shot was fired. Sergeant Haynes was a man of average height and of common features with the exception of a distinguishing mole on his chin.

“We need to speak with you. In private.”

The Sergeant’s eyes skipped over all of us, settled back on Jack. “This way.”

He led us through the building to a conference room where he took a seat at the end of the table and gestured for us to sit around it. “So you have your unsub?”

“We have evidence that someone at The Pawnshop tampered with evidence.”

“You come in here and accuse the Sarasota PD of a cover-up?”

“That’s exactly what we’re doing. We know Robinson had an S&W .38 revolver registered to him.”

“There’s no record of it being found at the shop.”

“You want to try again?”

Haynes remained silent.

“Robinson said it should have been there.”

“I…I don’t know what to say. I know nothing about it.”

“Is this because you don’t like us in your city? And you actually want to pin something on the FBI?”

“That’s not true.” His eyes went to the empty water pitcher in the middle of the table.

“Your Chief made it clear to my agents—,” Jack nodded toward Paige and then to me “—he was offended by the fact we never notified him of our presence here.”

Haynes clasped his hands on the table. “It is common courtesy to—”

“Is this the excuse for removing evidence?”

“Of course not.”

“We ran quick backgrounds on the officers who were at the scene yesterday. And Officer Bryant applied to the academy.”

“You think he took the evidence to make it appear as if your agent shot an unarmed man? Why?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“No. There’s no way one of mine would—”

“Robinson said he had the gun behind the counter,” Paige reiterated.

“He must have forgotten he moved it and misplaced it somewhere.”

“What we’re thinking is, Officer Bryant was more unhappy about the feds being here than the Chief, and he wanted to drag our reputation down. Namely mine.”

“He’s a good cop. Sometimes a little hot under the collar, but a good guy nonetheless.”

“Consider this little meeting a professional courtesy. Bryant has interfered with a federal investigation,” Jack said.

“I’ll call him in.”

“You do that.”

Nothing was moving fast enough for Nadia’s preference. Normally information was only a few clicks of a mouse and pecks on the keyboard away. The older detective roamed the hallways, pensive and agitated. He had been redirected into Nadia’s space several times now.

“If we catch you wandering again, Mr. Jenkins, we will ask that you leave.” The security agent led him in again and dropped him off with Nadia. “Keep an eye on him.”

“What am I a child?” Jenkins gruffness manifested itself in a verbal pout.

The security agent left with enlarged eyes at Nadia that said,
he’s your problem now.

“You work twenty-four hours a day?” Jenkins walked around Nadia’s space touching her in-tray, her stapler, adjusted her phone so it sat perpendicular to the edge of the desk.

Nadia reached out and put the phone back on the angle it had been in before. “Please just sit over there.”

“Police work used to involve a lot more field work than it does these days. All the forensics and computers weigh down the investigations.” He dropped in the chair Nadia had pointed to.

“All the science has made it possible to convict criminals that may have otherwise gone free.”

“You’re defensive about your work.”

“Of course I am.” Nadia turned back to face her monitor. She almost had a completed list of congregation members. She still hadn’t heard back from the church administrator but had gone about things her own way—donation tax receipts. The process took longer, but she expected Jack would be calling soon for an update. She had rehearsed her defense for not having the answers yet.

A name came up on the computer screen and her hands stopped moving. She verbalized her thinking process. “Bingham and Knowles.”

The chair Jenkins sat on groaned when he shifted his weight. “You’re working on the church membership list, right? Knowles shouldn’t come as a surprise. That’s why you’re looking at that church in the first place.”

Nadia ignored the man’s words. She couldn’t believe she didn’t connect the two until now. “I know that name from somewhere else too.” She turned around and tapped on the keys, the screen flashing and filling in with information. “Oh my god.” She kept her fingers moving over the keys. More windows opened on her screen. “It’s been here this entire time.” Nadia picked up the phone to call Jack.

With the receiver to her ear, an email notification flashed up in the bottom right hand of the computer screen. She went over to the program and opened the email. Jack had asked her to locate Keith Knowles, and this file held her answer. As the report filled the screen, Nadia’s jaw gaped open.

With the four of us crammed into the Cruze, it weighed down the car enough to make it less of a rocky ride. We were headed to the Catholic Church where Knowles had served as a priest, hoping they’d be more cooperative if we showed up in person. Nadia still hadn’t come through with the list, and Jack wasn’t impressed by the delay.

“I miss the SUV,” Zachery said from the front passenger seat.

For a man of over six foot myself, I related to the statement. But my mind wasn’t on discomfort. It was on Debbie. I missed her, and kissing Paige last night, wanting her the way I had, had been wrong.

Jack’s cell rang. He didn’t hesitate to pull it to his ear and answer while driving. He spoke for a few seconds and hung up. He swerved the car around a slowing moving pick-up truck and picked up speed.

“Jack?” Paige placed a hand on his headrest.

“That was Nadia. Keith Knowles is a follower of The Redeemer’s on Twitter—”

“Keith Knowles had a connection to the first victim—”

“And he had a connection with Bingham. Apparently Bingham donated money to the same church Knowles became a priest at. The good news is Knowles is still in Sarasota.”

The address for Keith Knowles brought us in front of a modest brick bungalow at the east end of town. All four of us got out of the car.

Jack banged on the oak door that had survived decades and threatened it surviving one more. “FBI.”

Zachery stood beside Jack; Paige and I hung back.

The evening air had turned humid with the threat of impending rain. The sounds of the neighborhood—voices, laughter, screaming children, and lawn mowers—carried, empowering it with a sort of life force.

Jack’s fist rose again and lowered when the door opened.

The smell of roast beef, onions, and baking potatoes filtered out. My stomach churned instinctively.

“Keith Knowles?”

“Yes?” The man responded with a heightened tail on the end of his single word. He looked past Jack to the rest of us and adjusted his glasses. “Who are you?”