Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

“Yeah,” she said.

“It’s been a long time. Nearly two years. Maybe after this, we should go there. To Oregon. Have a vacation.”

“All right.” Her voice came out thicker than she intended. Dammit, she had tears in her eyes.

He heard it, turned toward her and for the first time, she saw the full panic on his face. “Rainie…”

“I know.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“It’s not you.”

“I know I can be distant. I know I get a little lost in my work…”

“It’s my work, too.”

“But you’re not happy, Rainie. It’s not just today either. You haven’t been happy in a long, long time.”

“No.” It shocked her to finally say it out loud, and in the next instant, she felt a curious sensation in the middle of her chest. Relief. She had gotten the word out. She had said it, had acknowledged the elephant that had been lurking in the room for a good six months now. Someone had to.

Quincy’s gaze returned to the road. His hands flexed and unflexed on the wheel. “Is there something I can do?” he asked at last, already sounding more composed. That was his way, she knew. You could hit the man in the gut, and he’d merely square his shoulders. If you hurt his daughter, on the other hand, or threatened Rainie… That’s when the gloves came off. That’s when his dark eyes gleamed feral, and his runner’s body fell into the stance of a long, lean weapon, and he emerged not as Quincy, top criminology researcher, but as Pierce, an extremely dangerous man.

That was only when you harmed someone he loved, however. He had never done much of anything to protect himself.

“I don’t know,” Rainie said bluntly.

“If you want to go to Oregon, I’ll go to Oregon. If you need a break, we can take a break. If you need space, I’ll give you space. If you need comfort, then just tell me and I’ll pull over this car right now and take you into my arms. But you have to tell me something, Rainie, because I’ve been floating in the dark for months now, and I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Quincy…”

“I would do anything to make you happy, Rainie.”

And she said in a small voice, “I’m so sorry, Quincy, but I think I want a baby.”

Kaplan was already waiting for them when they pulled into the parking lot outside the Jefferson Dormitory. He looked hot, tired, and already pissed as hell with the day.

“A little birdie told me I’m not supposed to be talking to you two,” he said the moment they climbed out of their car. “Said I should deal only with some new guy, who’s now heading the investigation.”

Quincy shrugged mildly. “I haven’t been notified of any change in staffing. Have you, Rainie?”

“Nope,” she said. “Never heard a thing.”

“That little birdie must be pulling your leg,” Quincy told Kaplan.

Kaplan raised a brow. In a surprisingly quick move for a big guy, he swiped the cell phone clipped to Quincy’s waist, eyed its lack of power, and grunted. “Smart. Well, as long as they’re fucking their own people, welcome to my happy little club. I got a body, I still have jurisdiction, and I’m not giving it up.”

“Amen,” Quincy said. Rainie merely yawned.

Kaplan remained scowling. “So why do you want to reinterview my sentries? Think I couldn’t possibly have gotten it right the first time?”

“No, but now we have new information on the suspect.”

That seemed to appease the special agent. He shook out his shoulders, indicated for them to climb into his car, then headed back out onto the base. “Guys were out training this morning,” Kaplan filled them in. “I had their CO pull them aside. Both should be waiting for us at the school. They’re young, but good. If they know anything that can be of help, they’ll tell you.”

“Any more activity around here?”

“Dead bodies? Thankfully, no. Ads in the Quantico Sentry ? None that has crossed anyone’s desk. I met with Betsy Radison’s parents late last night. That’s been about it.”

“Tough business,” Quincy said quietly.

“Yeah, it is.”

Kaplan turned into the cluster of buildings that marked Marine TBS-The Basic School. Sure enough, two young recruits sat to the side, dressed in jungle camo with hats pulled low to shield their faces and thick black utility belts strapped around their waists. Kaplan, Quincy, and Rainie climbed out of the car, and immediately the two snapped to attention.

Kaplan made the introductions, while the recruits held their rigid stance.

“This is civilian Pierce Quincy. He is going to ask you some questions regarding the night, fifteen of July. This is his partner, Lorraine Conner. She may also ask you questions regarding the same evening. You will answer all of their questions to the best of your ability. You will accord them the full respect and cooperation you would give any Marine officer requesting your assistance. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

Kaplan nodded at Quincy. “You may proceed.”

Quincy raised a brow. The pomp and circumstance was a little extreme. Then again, Kaplan had taken a lot of hits recently. The FBI had forced him out of their world. Now he was showing off the power he still wielded in his.

Quincy approached the two Marines. “You were both on duty for the night shift, July fifteenth?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Both of you stopped each vehicle and checked each driver for proper ID?”

“We stopped all incoming vehicles, sir!”

“Did you check passengers for proper identification?”

“All visitors to the base must show proper identification, sir!”

Quincy shot Rainie another dry look. She didn’t dare meet his eye or she would start giggling or burst into tears or both. The morning had already taken on a surreal quality, and now it felt as if they were interviewing two trained seals.

“What kind of vehicles did you stop that night?” Quincy asked.

For the first time, no immediate answer was shouted forth. Both recruits were still staring straight ahead as procedure dictated, but it was clear they were confused.

Quincy tried again. “Special Agent Kaplan said you both reported heavy traffic that night.”

“Sir, yes sir!” both Marines cried out promptly.

“The majority of this traffic seemed to be National Academy students returning to the dorms.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Is it fair to say that these people mostly drove rental cars or their own personal vehicles? I would guess you saw a lot of small, nondescript automobiles.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Not quite as vehement, but still an affirmative.

“What about vans?” Quincy asked gently. “Particularly a cargo van arriving in the early morning hours?”

Quiet again. Both sentries wore a frown.

“We did see a few vans, sir,” one finally reported.

“Did you happen to note these vehicles in your logs, or glance at the license plates?”

“No, sir.”

Quincy’s turn to frown. “Why not? I would think you’d see mostly cars coming and going off the base. A cargo van should be unusual.”

“No, sir. Construction, sir.”

Quincy looked blankly at Kaplan, who seemed to get it. “We have a number of projects active here on the base,” the special agent explained. “New firing ranges, new labs, new admin buildings. It’s been a busy summer, and most of those crews are driving vans or trucks. Hell, we’ve cleared guys on forklifts.”

Quincy closed his eyes. Rainie could already see the anger building behind his deceptively quiet façade. The little details no one thought to mention in the beginning. The one little detail, of course, that could make all the difference in a case.

“You have a ton of construction personnel active on this base,” Quincy said in a steely voice. His eyes opened. He looked straight at Kaplan. “And you never mentioned this before?”