Too Far Gone (10 page)

If Casey really lacked an ego, Alexa reflected, Gary's words of praise must have made her squirm. Only love for him could have allowed his worshipful foreword to be connected to her work.

The first portraits hit Alexa with the force of open-hand slaps, each one more powerful than the one before it. The expressions on the subjects in the static and crisp images were like the unblinking eyes of cocked handguns, remarkable in their emotional power. The eyes of each subject—vulnerable in one, sad in another, and furious in yet another—had a hypnotic effect on Alexa. She was awed by Casey's work. Most photographers would have been lucky to get even one picture the equal of these in the course of a long career, but here were scores of photographic masterpieces, gathered in one collection.

“That one says it all, and then some.”

Grace was referring to a portrait entitled “Husband and Daughter—2003, Monaco,” showing a shirtless and strikingly handsome man holding a small child against his chest, his hand positioned in such a way as to hide her features behind his fingers. Gary West stared into the lens with the naked emotion of a lioness protecting her cub from a gathering of starving hyenas.

“He looks protective,” Alexa said. It wasn't the smiling man she'd seen in the snapshots of him she'd seen before.

“He didn't even want
that
picture of Deana in the book. He lives for Deana and Casey. Protecting Deana is an obsession with him.”

“Does he have any flaws?”

“Well,” Grace said, frowning. “An obsession with anything might be a flaw, don't you think so? Every person has flaws—only some people can't see them.”

“Give me that!” Casey demanded as she entered the room—hand outstretched to Alexa. Her cheeks were bright red, and Alexa couldn't tell if she was embarrassed or angry. Her eyes were red from crying or lack of rest, and the fingers of her outstretched hand trembled.

“This is amazing—” Alexa began.

Deana ran over and held up her arms to her mother, hoping to be lifted. Casey looked at her, placed her free hand on Deana's head gently. “Just a sec, darling. Mommy has to do something.”

“Uh-uuuuh,” Deana protested. “Ut.”

Alexa closed the volume gently and handed it to Casey, who sat beside her. “Grace, my pen.”

Grace went to a writing desk across the room and brought Casey back a lacquered fountain pen. Casey uncapped it, opened the book to the flyleaf, and carefully wrote something in the page's center. After Casey capped the pen, she blew gently on the wet ink for a few seconds until she was certain it was dry. Returning the volume to its slipcover, she handed it to Alexa and smiled uncertainly. “This is for you.”

“I can't accept it,” Alexa protested, honestly. Taking a gift from a subject in these circumstances—which might have been misinterpreted as an agent taking a gratuity from a vulnerable woman—could easily come back to haunt her. And a one-thousand-dollar gift at that.

“It's just a book,” Casey insisted. “Are you resisting because you're an FBI agent? Is it against some federal law?”

“That's not it. I just know how dear this book is—how few copies you have,” Alexa said. Of course she wanted the book. Who wouldn't?

“Well, I've already inscribed it, so unless someone named Alexa Keen comes along, it won't be of any use to anybody else. I do hope you'll enjoy it.”

Grace stood near the couch, looking as though someone had just told her they'd run over her kitten.

Alexa said, “It's far too generous.”

“So you will accept it?”

“I guess you've left me no choice. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Deana was trying to climb onto the couch. With her eyes on the book in Alexa's lap, Casey pulled Deana onto her lap. The child started pulling at the gold chain her mother was wearing. Casey allowed her to tug to her little heart's content.

“Casey, Director Bender asked me to assist the police. I thought your uncle was responsible for talking to him, but I'm not sure he was.”

Grace looked away, her body language a blast of super-chilled air.

“Alexa, your director's daughter, Alicia Bender, went to school with me. A portrait I did of her was in my first book. I don't accept commercial assignments because what I do, I do because something I can't explain about a subject attracts me. When people ask me to do their portraits, the pictures rarely ever work nearly as well, so usually they're just technically pleasant likenesses. Alicia's mother wants me to do her husband's official FBI portrait. I've avoided doing it, and somehow I doubt he'd open himself up. I called Alicia early this morning, and I mentioned our desire that your expertise and assistance be made available to us, and I think I told her how much it would mean to me personally. She called her mother in Aspen.”

“I'm amazed,” Alexa said. She tried to imagine how the director's wife felt about being called hours before the sun came up.

Casey seemed to read her thoughts.

“I didn't wake Felicity. I awoke Alicia, who assured me her mother was wide-awake in Aspen. Perhaps after this is over,” Casey said, “you'll allow me to photograph you.”

“Why me?”

“You have a remarkable presence and you are beautiful, have amazing eyes, exotic features, remarkable hands. Strength and depth.”

Alexa was embarrassed, not merely because she chewed her fingernails and was ashamed of that compulsive habit, but because she had never felt comfortable receiving praise unassociated with her job. She felt herself blushing and was powerless to stop it.

“I'm embarrassing you.” Casey smiled at Alexa and patted her hand. “We'll talk about it later.”

“I came because I have some news,” Alexa said.

“My uncle told me you found my Volvo. What did you learn from it?”

“Your Volvo?” Alexa asked.

“The Volvo is technically my car. Gary took it yesterday because Deana's car seat was in his Pontiac, since he brought her to the lake. It was easier than changing it out. I went there from the studio to meet them. We have one baby seat for each car, but I'd taken mine out the day before to make room for some framed prints Grace had to ship out.”

“What kind of Pontiac does he drive?” Alexa asked.

“A white 1965 GTO convertible with a red top that I bought for him as an anniversary present a few years ago. That's what he was driving yesterday. He also has a Rover, which he sometimes drives to spare wear and tear on the GTO.”

“The GTO is his only toy,” Grace added.

“Gary always wanted one because it was something his father had when Gary was a child.”

“And you didn't see the Volvo after you left the restaurant?”

“No.”

“I guess you didn't head in the same direction,” Alexa said.

Casey shook her head slowly and wiped away a tear. “I wish we'd left together. I assumed he was long gone, so I didn't even look for him.”

“We don't have the results from the crime-scene technicians yet. Detective Manseur is handling that as we speak.”

“Shouldn't your people be doing that?”

“The local crime techs are fine for the prelims. All we know so far, or what we think happened based on what we saw, is that it appears that an unsub ran into the Volvo, approached Gary's door, opened it—or maybe Gary did—and the unsub—”

“Unsub?” Casey asked.

“It's FBI jargon for unknown subject,” Grace chirped in.

“He struck Gary while he was still inside the Volvo.”

“A violent attack?” Grace asked.

“Yes, it was.”

“Could it have been fatal?” Grace asked.

Casey's eyes widened. She clenched her daughter tightly to her chest.

“No, I don't think so,” Alexa said.

“What did he use?”

“The object used was probably some short, cylindrical club.”

“A golf club?” Grace asked.

“We don't know exactly what it was. May have been a weapon of convenience—something the unsub picked up at the scene. Or perhaps he had the weapon with him already.”

“Weren't there any witnesses?” Grace asked.

“Not that we've located,” Alexa said.

“Then how do you know he was attacked?” Grace asked. “What evidence is there?”

“I'd rather not go into that.” Alexa had already told them much more than she normally would have, and she didn't want to upset Casey any more than she had already.

“Please, Alexa,” Casey said. “I need to know.”

“Okay. There was low-velocity blood spatter inside the Volvo and a mark on the door that seems to have been made during the course of the event.”

“How do you know it was his blood in the car?” Grace asked.

“The blood was human and O negative, which is the same as Gary's. He was driving the vehicle, so I think we can assume it's his.”

“How did you know his blood type?” Casey asked. “I didn't tell anybody that.”

“The identification card in his wallet listed his blood type,” Alexa told her.

“You found his wallet in the Volvo?” Casey asked.

Alexa nodded. “He was most likely struck while getting his license out because he'd been rear-ended and was expecting to exchange information. The wallet, containing cash and credit cards, was on the console, so I figure it was already in his hand when the event occurred.”

“Event?” Tears ran down Casey's cheeks. Grace fetched her a tissue. Deana looked at her mother curiously and reached up to touch the tears.

Alexa felt a catch in her throat and fought the urge to show any emotion. FBI agents did not let anyone see their softer side. They were not supposed to become emotionally invested with victims, because emotion clouded objectivity.

“Excuse my choice of terminology. We don't have enough facts to draw many conclusions. I'm just telling you what evidence we do have, which is very preliminary and may give us an inaccurate picture. We can't afford to jump to any conclusions at this stage. The early evidence is often misinterpreted.”

“Do you think he could be dead?” Grace asked.

“Grace!” Casey snapped angrily. “Gary isn't dead! If he were, I'd know it. He's
alive
! Don't you dare say he's dead!”

“I'm sorry,” Grace said immediately. “Of course he isn't, Casey. I didn't mean…” She let the apology dangle unfinished—lingering in the silence like an unpleasant odor.

Alexa didn't particularly care for Grace, but she admonished herself for that judgment. Grace may have been trying to comfort Casey in her own misguided way, or trying to control the situation in her capacity as Casey's closest friend and an employee whose job was to make herself useful in whatever way she could.

“On the positive side,” Alexa told them, “there wasn't the amount of blood to indicate a fatal wound. The blows, based on the weapon's mark in the door panel, would seem to indicate that the door's proximity to Gary's position means the area necessary to draw back was shortened and lacked enough inertia to inflict a fatal injury.”

“But he still might have been very seriously injured?” Casey asked.

Alexa nodded. “That's possible.”

“It isn't a probability?” Grace asked.

Casey fixed her with a warning glare.

“Forgive my intrusion, Casey, but if someone killed Gary, they'd probably have left the body there, right?” Grace asked.

Alexa nodded.

“I mean, why would they drag a body from one vehicle to another in a residential neighborhood, where they could be seen by anybody looking out the window? They abducted him, and chances are, he's going to be alive in case Casey wants proof of life, right? Isn't that how it goes? Abductors usually release the people after they get the ransom, don't they?”

“Well, taking him could be a positive thing,” Alexa said, fighting to control her urge to ask Grace how she knew where the Volvo had been found. Instead, she turned to Casey and said, “Casey, could I have some water?”

Grace left the room without waiting to be sent for the requested water.

Deana slipped down from the couch, went back to her toy box, and began looting it again, squealing with delight.

“My poor baby,” Casey said. “Deana knows only that her father isn't here. I'm thankful for that. I know she's picking up on my fear and anxiety. I should try not to be so emotional, but I can't help it. I know you'll find Gary and he'll be all right. I know that.”

“We're doing everything we can,” Alexa said. “Look, I'll keep you apprised as best I can as the investigation goes forward, but I'm asking you not to share anything I tell you from here on out with anybody else.”

“You mean Unko? Ken Decell?”

“I mean
anybody.
I know it's going to be hard, but can you do that for me?”

“Anything you say, but…You can't mean even Grace?”

Alexa nodded solemnly. “Normally I wouldn't be sharing as much as I have, but since you're responsible for my involvement, I'm breaking protocol a lot more than I should. Protocols are in place for good reason. It dictates we share almost no information with a possible suspect, or anyone who might share our information with someone who might be involved, and giving you premature information that could change has obvious drawbacks and risks, putting you through needless emotional turmoil, or might give you unrealistic expectations. I'm making an exception here because I think you need to know certain things so you might see something we don't or make some connection we wouldn't that's useful in locating your husband.”

“Okay,” Casey said softly. “Nobody. I promise.”

“You should also understand I'm not warm and fuzzy when it comes to my work, and what I tell you may seem blunt or harsh. I hope you'll understand that it isn't because I don't empathize with you. Empathy can be detrimental. Casey, I promise you I'm going to do everything I can possibly do to find Gary, but you have to understand that I might not succeed. As much as I hate to say so, there are no guarantees. I'm not in control of this, and may not ever be. But I will do everything in my power to resolve this satisfactorily.”