Chris Mooney - The Dead Room

'Jennings said he believed the man was Peter Alan. We won't know until we run his prints.'

'The fingerprints came back this morning. It's Peter Alan. Mr Cooper told me.

'Four Federal agents died along with Frank Sullivan – Peter Alan, Jack King, Tony Frissora and Steven White. If Alan is alive, I think we should go on the theory that the others are too.'

Darby nodded.

Chadzynski said, 'Mr Cooper also informed me that the man who murdered your father requested a meeting with you but he was vague on the details.'

'I was scheduled to speak with John Ezekiel this morning at ten about Amy Hallcox. Her real name is Kendra Sheppard. She visited him the day she was murdered.'

'Yes, I know. Mr Cooper told me. As for Ezekiel, I'll have Lieutenant Warner speak to him.'

'Ezekiel said he'd speak only to me.'

'Why?'

'I won't know until I talk to him.'

'Have you spoken to him before?'

'No,' Darby said. 'Never.'

Chadzynski digested this silently.

'Mr Cooper has asked to be removed from the CSU.'

'Yes,' Darby said, 'I know.'

'His request surprised me, as I'm sure it did you. I know how much you value him, both personally and professionally.'

Darby waited.

'He cited the reason as conflict of interest, but he wouldn't tell me specifics,' Chadzynski said. 'Do you have any ideas?'

'At one point in time he knew Kendra Sheppard on a personal level. They're both from Charlestown.'

'Mr Cooper neglected to mention that fact to me.'

'It must have slipped his mind.'

'I can tell by the tone of your voice you honestly don't believe that.'

No, she didn't. 'Commissioner, I'd like you to put some people on Michelle Baxter.'

'Who?'

'She lives in Charlestown, in an apartment building right down the street from the Reynolds house. She's the woman who was speaking to the driver of the brown van I saw yesterday in Belham – the mystery man, as you called him.'

'This is the first I'm hearing of this woman.'

So Coop hadn't told her.

'Is Mr Cooper deliberately withholding information that could help this case?'

'He identified Kendra Sheppard,' Darby said. 'He -'

'Please answer my question.'

Darby drank some water. Coop knew something; she could feel it in her gut. He was under no legal obligation to speak, but if Chadzynski found out he had willingly withheld information that could be helpful, he could kiss his Boston career goodbye. A disciplinary meeting would be held. Given his untarnished work record, he'd most likely be asked to tender his resignation instead of being fired – if he was lucky.

But if his deliberate withholding of information wound up contributing to the injury or death of someone, Coop would never work in law enforcement again, not to mention possible prosecution.

'Darby?'

'Yes. I think he's withholding something.'

'Then I suggest you speak to him. Today.'

'I will, after I talk to Ezekiel.'

'Are you feeling well enough to go to the prison?'

Darby nodded.

'Mr Warner will drive you,' Chadzynski said. 'I'd like him to take your vehicle. While you're inside the prison, he can check for listening devices.'

Darby described her car and told Warner about the garage down the street. She found her keys on top of the nightstand and handed them to him.

Chadzynski stepped away from the bed and was about to open the door when she turned around, her gaze level. 'You may want to remind Mr Cooper what he's putting on the line. I hope, for his sake, he's not deliberately withholding vital information.'

I do too, Darby thought, reaching for the phone.

Jamie sat in a lawn chair under a bright morning sun fishing a cigarette from the pack of Marlboros she'd purchased on her way back from Belham. She had started smoking at eighteen, then quit when she and Dan had decided to try to start a family.

Halfway through her second cigarette, she realized how much she missed smoking, how the nicotine cleared her head and calmed her nerves.

The kids were outside with her. Michael relaxed in a hammock set up in the shade between two elms, a book propped open on his stomach. He held it with one hand while the other dangled over the hammock's edge, gripping a humming red lightsaber. Carter, dressed in a brown Jedi robe, the hood covering his head, ran across the grass (which desperately needed cutting), alternating between awkward somersaults and jumps. He dropped his lightsaber and stretched out his arms, wiggling his fingers at his older brother.

'You're not paying attention!' Carter yelled.

Michael turned to him. 'What?'

'I'm using the Force on you.'

'What Force Power?'

'Lightning. It's shooting from my fingers.'

'Cart, you can't use that.'

'Yes, I can.'

'No, dumb-dumb, you can't. How many times did I tell you only the Dark Side can use Force Lightning? You're Luke Skywalker, remember? He's one of the good guys. They can't use that.'

'I'm a special Jedi Master. We know all the secrets.' Carter kept wiggling his fingers, making crackling sounds with his mouth, spittle flying everywhere.

'Whatever,' Michael said, turning his attention back to his book. 'I'm blocking it with my lightsaber like Mace Windu in Episode Three.'

Jamie watched them, smiling. Despite yesterday's ugly confrontation with Michael, she was glad to have both boys home. This morning's encounter with Kevin Reynolds had spooked her.

She had checked Ben's phone before coming into the backyard. Reynolds hadn't called or sent a text message.

She felt confident that Reynolds hadn't recognized her. Yes, he had stood in front of the minivan, staring at her through the windscreen, but she had worn sunglasses and pulled the lid of the baseball cap low across her forehead. Add that to the fact it was still dark out and there was absolutely no way in hell he could have recognized her.

Driving home, she had had a moment of panic, wondering if Reynolds had memorized the front licence plate. Had he left the park to have one of his cronies run the plate? The panic evaporated when she remembered there was no plate in the front. The plastic holder for the plate had broken a few months ago, and she had stuffed the plate into the back of the minivan in case she ever got pulled over by a cop.

Maybe he recognized your minivan.

Not possible. When Ben and his crew had been at her house five years ago, they would have seen a brand-new navy-blue Honda Pilot in the garage. Shortly after Dan's death, she had traded in the Pilot for a used minivan, not wanting to be saddled with the hefty car payments.

Still, Reynolds had left. Something had spooked him.

A sinking feeling bloomed in the pit of her stomach. So close, she thought. He was so goddamn close… I should have got out of the car and shot him.

Was Reynolds still lurking somewhere close to Charlestown? Or had he left the state?

You're not going to find him, Jamie. It's time to pack up and leave.

No. She wasn't going to leave now. For the last five years she had lived each moment with a held breath, her every waking thought consumed with the possibility that the men who killed Dan and the man she knew only as Ben would come back to the house and finish the job. By some miracle of God, she had found Ben, and now Ben Masters was dead. And she now knew Kevin Reynolds was the second man. She had to find him. She couldn't stop now, not when she was this close.

Did you suddenly forget the part when he tore out of the car park? He's gone, Jamie. You can't get close to him. You tried luring him in pretending to be Ben Masters. It was a good plan – it really was – but it didn't work out. Pack up what you need, take the kids and leave.

Ben's phone had only three contacts: Pontius, aka Kevin Reynolds; Alan; and this person named Judas. Why so few contacts? Maybe it was new and he hadn't got round to programming in the numbers. Or maybe he simply used the phone for emergencies, wanting only the numbers he needed on hand. She thought back to her moment in Mary Reynolds's basement, remembering Kevin Reynolds saying something about how Ben didn't trust mobile phones.