The Third Victim Part 17

The agent moved into the room and, without waiting for an invitation, took a seat.

"I take it that gentleman is with the state?"

"Mr. Perfect is a state homicide detective. G.o.d help us all."

"A ninety percent conviction rate is impressive."

"So is his spelling ability. You still want to deck him after a five-minute chat."

"Problems with the case?"

"I screwed it up royally," she a.s.sured him.

"And now you're resting on your laurels?"

"Hardly. I'm planning my next line of attack."

The corner of the man's lip twitched. Rainie was happy to see that she had amused him, but she still wasn't in the mood for a chat. She sat forward and cut to the chase. "What do you want, G-man? I'm tired, I have a triple homicide to investigate, and I'm not giving up jurisdiction of my case. Just so you know."

"I'm here to help' "Bulls.h.i.t."

"Okay, I'm one more bureaucrat placed on this earth to mess with your mind and question your abilities."

"Finally, some honesty in law enforcement."

"I also want to talk to Daniel O'grady." Rainie leaned back. That answer she believed. She just wasn't sure what it meant.

She tilted her chair onto its back legs, absently placing one foot on top of her desk, then crossing her other foot over it. Her legs still ached from running this morning. She stretched out her calves while she gave Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy another appraising stare.

Experienced, she thought, well established in his career. Probably in his forties, graying slightly at the temples. Worked well with his short-cropped hair and distinguished suit. Added to his power. She was willing to bet money Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy consciously did a lot of things to add to his image of power. He didn't need much help, though. It was all in his eyes that piercing, steady stare. This man had seen some things on the job. He'd taken on a few things more. Nothing overwhelmed him anymore, and for a moment Rainie was envious.

"You a profiler?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I do some profiling. I also teach cla.s.ses and research various subjects for the Behavioral Science Unit."

"You study serial killers."

"Serial killers, rapists, and child molesters," he said with a straight face, then added, "It makes for very pleasant dreams."

"What do you want with Danny? He's a suspected ma.s.s murderer. That's different from a serial killer."

"Very good, Officer. Plus, he's a juvenile ma.s.s murderer, which is distinctly different as well. Unfortunately, we don't understand these distinctions, hence my new research a.s.signment. "Rainie's brows shot up.

"You're researching school shootings?"

"Correct."

"You're going from town to town, investigating kids murdering other kids?"

"Yes."

Rainie shook her head; she didn't know whether to be amazed or appalled.

"Traffic accidents I can handle," she told him.

"Drunken brawls, stabbings, even the occasional domestic incidents. But what went down in that school yesterday ... How can you focus on something like that full-time? How can you keep from waking up screaming every night?"

"With all due respect, Officer, I have a bit more experience with violent crime than you."

Rainie grimaced.

"Thank you. Words I haven't already heard twelve times this morning."

She straightened up in the chair and let her feet hit the floor.

"Well, sorry to break it to you, Agent, but I doubt you'll get to speak with Danny. His parents got him a crack defense attorney who's placed him off-limits to all interviews. Despite the fact that Danny has confessed twice and was found holding the murder weapons, he's pleading innocent."

"Do you think he's guilty?"

"I think I have a case to put together." That's a careful answer."

She smiled at him wolfishly.

"I may be inexperienced, SupSpAg, but I learn quick."

"Soup Spag?"

"Supervisory Special Agent, in local law-enforcement terms. We're not big on t.i.tles, you know."

"I see." Quincy appeared a little dazed. Rainie had a feeling he wasn't sure what to make of her yet, or how to handle her. The thought pleased her. She liked keeping the feds guessing. In the end, it might be the only thing she had to show for her day.

So she supposed she should've known. She'd no sooner started feeling smug than the FBI hunter went on the attack. He said calmly, "I don't think Daniel O'grady shot up his school. And I don't think you're certain of it either Officer Conner. I think we're both still wondering what really happened yesterday afternoon.

And better yet, how we can prove it."

Wednesday, May 16, 11:43 amRainie drove Quincy to the school.

Quincy sat in the pa.s.senger's seat, gazing out the window with what he was afraid must be an incredulous stare. He had not been to Oregon in many years and had forgotten its stunning beauty. They drove through rolling verdant pastures liberally sprinkled with black and white Holsteins and topped by red farmhouses with bunches of yellow pansies.

He could smell freshly mown gra.s.s and the salty tang of ocean air. He could see towering mountains ringing the valley, their summits carpeted in dense Douglas fir.

King-size cab trucks whizzed by, their powerful V-8 engines gunning.

People waved to Rainie as they pa.s.sed, and about half a dozen black Labs lolled their tongues as they panted merrily out the window. Up ahead, everyone slowed for a John Deere tractor that was laboring down the road. No one honked at the aging farmer or yelled at him to pull over. They simply waited and waved politely when they finally had room to pa.s.s. In answer, the farmer touched the brim of his faded red baseball hat.

"That's Mike Berry," Rainie said, as they swung wide around the green tractor, breaking her silence for the first time since they'd gotten into the patrol car.

"He and his brother own the two biggest dairy farms around here. Last year they bought out three family farms that were destroyed by the floods. One belonged to Carl Simmons, who's sixty years old and has no family left. Mike arranged for a living trust, so Carl can stay in his

home until the day he dies and never worry about a thing. The Berry brothers are good people."

"I didn't think there were many places like this left," Quincy said honestly.