Disclaimer etc, see Chapter 1
A/N: Special thanks to M for her help.
FBI Missing Person's Unit, New York City
November 23, 8 a.m.
Jack Malone's day had not started out very well. He had woken up groggy after having lain awake until the early morning hours. Doubts about what he was doing had followed him home the previous night and had refused to leave him alone. Work had rarely seemed so complicated and the weight of the responsibility that he was bearing as a supervisory special agent was particularly heavy today.
His team was gathered in the conference room. When he looked at them, he could see the trust that existed between them. They also trusted him to make the right decisions. But he might just be about to betray that trust, as he was walking on thin ice as well. Without trusting each other, with their lives if necessary, it was impossible to do this job every day, to face the risk and to walk into unpredictable situation. Each of them had to know that they could count on the other.
What Danny had told him yesterday had worried him, and confirmed the impression he had already had himself. Samantha wasn't ready to come back to active duty. It was his responsibility to make a judgment, and order her to seek help if necessary. Those were the rules, and they were painfully clear about what he had to do. But the reality was hardly ever that clear: the picture there was muddled with emotions and a passionate past between them. But even now, what he regretted was that it was the past.
It was over. It was for the better, every bit of reason he had told him that, but he still longed for that time. But longing or not, he had to do something about the situation. After his half-hearted attempt to talk to Samantha the previous day, he would have to try again and pull rank, no matter how much he hated to resort to that.
He sighed, frustrated and angry for allowing himself to be in that position. It wasn't just Samantha who might not be fit for duty, he knew that his own choices since the beginning of the case had been questionable as well.
Once everyone was assembled, they went on to discuss the strategy for the investigation. Now they were at a point where progress was going to be very difficult and frankly, unlikely. The long time span that had passed between Diane's disappearance and the start of the investigation had put them at the disadvantage from the start. Now, after two full days of investigation, they had little to show for it. The only thing they did have with certainty were dead bodies. The report had been on his desk in the morning. The body found in the woods was Diane Durkin. Identified with the help of dental records.
"The body has been identified as Diane Durkin. According to Dr. Sommer's estimate, she has been dead between seven and nine days. That means that it is quite likely that she was killed on the night of November 14 after leaving Club Aragon. She wasn't sexually assaulted and there were no signs of a struggle. She probably left the club with someone she knew or otherwise trusted."
"Not necessarily. If she was into prostitution, she could have gone with a client."
"Possible, but we have no evidence suggesting that she was into the trade. Her purse contained lipstick, tissues and her ID card. No condoms or anything else indicating that she was planning on meeting a man."
"I guess we can bury the hooker theory."
"One interesting thing: Diane was hit by a car several hours before she was shot. According to the report, she was bleeding extensively for a while, but was still alive when she was shot."
"That's weird. If a driver hit her and didn't want anything to do with the police for whatever reason, why not simply leave her for dead?"
"Maybe she knew the driver and they were afraid that she would survive and go to the police. They might have had to get a gun first, hence the delay between the accident, if it was one, and the shooting."
"I see what you're getting at. But wouldn't that be a bit too risky? I mean, someone could have found her in the meantime. Plus, assuming the driver dragged her out into the forest so that she wouldn't be spotted, their clothes would be full of blood. That and the damage to the car would make it rather stupid to try and go somewhere, get a gun and then come back. Do we know what kind of gun was used?"
"Semi automatic, tec nine."
"Not a gun a lot of people have lying around at home. And if she was with a drug dealer, then he would probably have had a gun handy already. Or at least a knife. It doesn't make sense."
"Maybe it makes sense, if you take panic into account. Let's say that she was hit accidentally by someone. The person panics, drives off and it later occurs to them that they might be identified. So they finish the job."
"It takes a lot of cold-bloodedness to shoot an unconscious woman in the back of the head. But now that we have a time of death, we can start checking alibis. Both of her parents and the ex-husband. Let's bring him in again."
"Uhhm. That might be difficult. Just before I got here, the team shadowing Tom Dyson called. They've lost him."
"How did that happen?" Jack asked angrily, looking around the room, as if searching for the party to blame for the slip-up.
Everyone shrugged.
"Okay, we'll put out an APB. The hospital called, the son is awake and we can try to talk to him today. Did you get anything more on the DNA test and the phone records?"
"Nothing on the DNA test, but we traced a cell-phone back to one Lydia Atkinson. That's the only number we haven't checked out yet."
"Get on it and take Martin with you." Samantha raised an eyebrow. She had expected that Jack would put her in the office again, especially after she had not been exactly in agreement with him yesterday. But she wasn't going to argue. While Martin wasn't her partner of choice lately, as he too looked at her as if he doubted that she was ready to go back into the field, she preferred working with him to working with Danny after what had happened the previous day.
Danny hadn't talked to her about it, he'd only talked to Jack, but it was probably only a matter of time until he brought the subject up. But then, maybe not. Danny might be the only person not to ask any questions. He kept his affairs to himself, and didn't pry into those of others.
"Danny, you can work from the office, check alibis, try to find the car and get in contact with narcotics again. Maybe they'll be able to give us something on who's dealing GHB in the neighbourhood."
"I'm on it."
"Vivian, you're with me. We're going to the hospital."
Streets of New York City,
November 23, 9.45 a.m.
"Is everything all right?" Martin asked
"Yes. Why are you asking?" Samantha immediately went on the defensive.
"It's just after what happened yesterday. I mean it's very soon after…"
"I'm fine," she replied with emphasis, trying to convince both of them.
"Fair enough," Martin replied.
The rest of the drive passed in silence. Samantha stared out the window, watching the city and its inhabitants pass by. They were all strangers to each other, anonymous faces. How many of them could go missing without anyone taking notice? Who, outside of the people at the office, would miss her?
Finally, they stopped in front of Lydia Atkinson's home. The neighbourhood was markedly different from Diane's. Individual houses, with double garages and neatly manicured front lawns. Perfect suburbia. A dark blue SUV was parked in front one of the garage doors.
Martin and Samantha walked up to the front door. They rang the bell, but nobody answered. Not a sound came from inside the house. Samantha checked her watch. 11 a.m. If both Lydia and her husband were at work, what was the car doing in the driveway?
"I'm going to take the left side, you take the right side." Martin seemed to share her thought. They split up, circling the house in the hopes of catching a glance inside.
On her way to the backyard, Samantha passed a window. She glanced inside. What she saw was not what she had been expecting. Inside what looked like a study, chaos, blood and destruction told the story of a violent struggle. Furniture was overturned, books were lying on the floor. Blood spatter on the wall and the floor, but no body in sight.
"Martin!" she yelled out.
FBI Missing Person's Unit, New York City
November 23, 11 a.m.
Running background checks usually was rather dull and, like most agents, Danny didn't like office work very much. It was out in the field where he felt that he could make a difference. But a lot of investigative work relied on solid information. Especially in this case, were so many players were somehow involved, they needed to have solid background on all of them. A deeper check into the club owner and his employees had not turned up anything. No criminal history and no financial irregularities. His contacts in the narcotics department didn't have anything of substance to offer either.
The DNA results had come in. Danny opened the file and scanned the report. No match. Skin cells under Diane's fingernails did not match her ex-husband. The scratch on his neck had most likely not been caused by her. Another dead end. The case seemed to consist of nothing else. How could the death of a mother and two children just happen? The idea that they might never find who was responsible, and it might all have just been the result of as series of unfortunate events was repulsive to him.
He had seen his share of injustices, but this felt different. It felt like there had to be more to it. Maybe that was just his unwillingness to face the fact that they would not be able to solve the case, he kept telling himself. Normally, he didn't rely much on intuition during an investigation. That was more Jack's and Samantha's area of expertise.
Maybe it was intuition, maybe it was a random hunch or just his experience as an investigator, but Danny decided to run a check on the owner of the cottage were he and Samantha had been shot at the previous day. While the owner had done nothing to warrant investigation, Danny was more than surprised at what he found. His hunch had certainly been dead on.
Within an hour, the neighbourhood was swarming with law enforcement officers and crime scene technicians. Neighbours were standing in their front yards, gawking at the scene unfolding in the formerly peaceful suburban community. Samantha was appalled by the mixture of shock and excitement on their faces.
After securing the house, they had called the crime scene technicians. The inside of the house had seemed perfectly normal, no sign of violence or disturbance, aside from the blood and destruction in the small study. All signs of a crime were confined to that room. At least the obvious signs. As soon as the criminologists finished up, Martin and Samantha were going to take a more thorough look at the interior.
As far as they could ascertain for the moment, Lydia Atkinson and her six-year-old daughter, Sina, were missing. Lydia's husband, Warren, was at a business trip in Philadelphia, but he was on his way back to New York City as soon as he had heard about what had happened. According to what he had told them on the phone, he had left town two days ago, and had recently spoken with his wife.
"I just got off the phone with Merton Pharmaceuticals. They confirmed Warren Atkinson's business trip. He's scheduled a to give a series of presentations lasting all week," Martin informed Samantha.
"Well, sounds like he has an alibi. But we'll have to make sure that he didn't have an opportunity to slip away from the conference. Check his credit cards and bank accounts."
"Already called the office about that. It looks like they're done inside." Martin indicated the crime scene technicians emerging from the house.
The Atkinson's Residence, New York City
November 23, 1 p.m.
The home was nicely furnished. Light yellows and cream tones dominated the décor. The corridor let into a spacious combined living room was kitchen area. Both were cleaned spotless. No signs that a fight had taken place. The white shelf that extended over the entire left wall, was filled with books. Samantha browsed the backs. The classics of American literature, some contemporary fiction, a few travel books about Europe. She turned her attention to the framed photographs on the wall. Lydia and her husband were in only a few of them. Most were of cities and landscape. The pictures weren't labelled, but the buildings looked European. She heard a noise and turned around, hand on her gun.
"Hey, don't shoot me." martin said laughing. "I had a look at the bedroom. It's the same as here. Straight out of beautiful living. Nothing missing jewellery still in the closet, cash and passports of both Lydia and her husband here there as well."
"She must have know her kidnapper, assuming it there was one. She let him in or he had a key. I say we take a look at the study." They proceeded to the small study. It stood in sharp contrast to the rest of the house. Messy, thrown together furniture, blood stains all over. It was as if it didn't even belong to the same people. The table was cluttered with books and piles of paper. Samantha and Martin carefully started sorting through the pages. Most of them were photocopies from books about religion and religious groups. There were a few newspaper clipping regarding religious violence. A copy of the Bible and several Bible commentaries were among the books on the table.
"She most have been researching something about religion." Martin stated the obvious.
"But there is something missing. I don't see a computer or any handwritten notes." Samantha glanced around, but saw nothing. "Someone might have taken it. Maybe it went something like this. Whoever wants her research visits her, first demand that she hand it over, when Lydia refuses a struggle ensues."
"Possible. But it doesn't explain why they took her and her daughter. A child would only be in the way if the kidnapping had something to do with her work on a story."
"Maybe Lydia wasn't the target. Something might have gone wrong. Assuming that someone was after her daughter. She tried to protect her and is killed in the process. But then" Samantha reconsidered "Why would someone try and grab a six year old at home and not out at the playground or after school." She shrugged and returned her attention to the room.
Martin was still busy going through the mess on the floor. Most of it was books that had probably fallen from the table in the struggle.
FBI Missing Person's Unit, New York City
November 23, 2 p.m.
Warren Atkinson looked fatigued and shaken when an agent led him into the office. Jack and Samantha introduced themselves and asked him to take a seat.
"Mr. Atkinson, we know this is a difficult time for you. But we need to ask you some questions about your wife and daughter. Did your wife seem different recently?"
"Not really. She has been anxious these last few days, but she's always had phases. She's been seeing a therapist since right after Sina was born."
"What was the name of her doctor?"
"Dr. Lang. I can write down his address for you," he offered.
Jack handed him a piece of paper. Mr Atkinson scribbled down a name and address.
"What abour your wife's social circle? Any friends she met on a regular basis?"
"Not that I know of. She occasionally got together with mother's of Sina's friends, but I don't know any of them. You see my wife and I, we really keep to ourselves."
"You wife stays at home?"
"More or less. She works as a freelance journalist. But to tell you the truth, it's just an indulgence of hers. Lydia hasn't published anything in years. She used to be quite successful, but ever since Sina, she's had other priorities. Sina is her life. She was downright spoiling her. I kept telling her that." Warren sighed.
"Do you or wife any enemies, people who might want to hurt you?"
"No, of course not." he shook his head.
"Do you think my wife and daughter are still alive?"
"We don't know. We think this case might be connected to another case. Do you know a woman named Diane Durkin?"
"No. Wait wasn't that the woman who disappeared and let her children starve to death? I saw something on the news about her. But I certainly haven't know her before and Lydia certainly hasn't either. You think that what happened to my family has anything to do with that woman?" he sounded incredulous.
"We can't be sure." Vivian left out the fact that they knew that Diane and Lydia had been in contact with each other. If Warren Atkinson had played a role in his wife's disappearance, they had to avoid giving him too much information.
"One last question: how were things in your marriage?"
"Why do you want to know this?" Mr Atkinson's demeounr changed toward a more aggressive attitude. "this is none of your business."
"It is standard procedure in cases when a spouse is missing." Jack tried his most calm tone.
"Things were all right. I spend a lot of time out of town, but everything is fine between us." Mr. Atkinson finally replied with conviction.
"Thank you Mr. Atkinson, we might have further question for you later."
Samantha and Jack left the room.
"So what do you think of him?"
"Not much. He's lying to us. About his marriage at the very least. He has no idea what his wife is doing all day. And he never called home while he was on a business trip. Come on. If that's true, there is serious trouble in the marriage."
Her last sentence hit jack hard. Had he too just assumed much of the decay of his marriage as a normal consequence of having been married for seven years? But dwelling on that question wasn't going to help. He had made the choice to work on making his marriage work and that was what he was going to do, in spite of his undeniable feelings for Samantha.
"You clearly aren't married, Samantha." Jack replied lightly, smiling for the first time all day, but the smile failed to reach his eyes.
"I know I was married once." Samantha answered, sadness invading her, as the parade of her failed relationships moved through her mind. Regret at never having had a successful long standing relationship.
Jack saw the sadness on Samantha's face. Seeing her like this almost physically hurt Jack. He longed to put her arm around her for comfort but was acutely aware that this gesture was not a good move, especially not given his history with Samantha. He felt helpless and trapped.
"We need to get going." he finally said, hoping that work would provide a distraction as it did so often.
FBI Missing Person's Unit Conference Room. New York City
November 23, 3.45 p.m.
"Lydia was last seen by her husband around 7.30 a.m. this morning. We checked with his secretary, it fits with the time he arrived at the office. NYPD has been talking to the neighbours. Two neighbours claim to have seen her car in the drive way between 8 a.m. and 9 a.m. . She missed her 11 a.m. appointment. Something must have happened, between the time her husband left and the appointment."
"Her credit card shows no activity since the day before she disappeared, but an extensive financial check is on its way. But the husband' s credit card shows that a week ago, he paid $2000 to an independent lab. The lab specializes in parenthood DNA testing."
"Okay, let's say that he tells her that he doubts that he's the father and says that he's getting the test. She freaks because she knows what it's gonna say. Sina isn't Daddy's little girl. The next day, she waits for the husband to leave, and then she runs because she's afraid of the fallout.
"She didn't take anything with her, no clothes, not even for her daughter. If she left over an hour after her husband did, she would have had time for that," Vivian said
"Yes, that's the timeframe we are looking at. Between 7.30 a.m. and 11. a.m." Sam marked it on the whiteboard.
"She made one phone call during that time. To her friend Diane. At 7.37 a.m., it lasted 23 minutes." Martin read from his notes. "That would fit with Danny's theory that she left because of the paternity test. She calls up her friend, tells her what's going on and they figure out a plan."
"Sam, Danny, I want you to go over to this friend. Martin, you go check out the gym, Vivian, you're with me. The husband said she freelanced for Women's Touches, we are meeting with the editor in chief tonight."
"Lydia was out all night. That was the same night that Diane was killed out on the road to the cottage. The next day, Lydia makes an appointment with Dr. Walter, her psychiatrist. We won't be able to get her patient file so easily, but we found a prescription for Lorazepam, an anti-anxiety medication, with a matching date in her apartment. There are four pills missing. Lorazepam is normally taken for acute anxiety attacks.
According to her husband, she had been in treatment for anxiety before in the past, but he wasn't aware that she had been taking medication recently. He did however say that she seemed disturbed, but he left on a business trip on the same night. When he called her the next morning, she told him that she was planning to drive up to her mother's. There was a highway toll booth receipt from New Jersey, confirming that she in fact drove there and returned. We haven't been able to find out what she did there, but I've notified the field office and they are looking into it.
The same evening, she takes out $5000 out of her checking account. At a bank in Manhattan. We don't know yet what she did with them. There was no cash in her house. That is the last record we have of her. A neighbour saw her on November 20, coming back home around 8 p.m. She hasn't been seen since then."
"So, she and her daughter might be missing for as long as three days?"
"Afraid so."
"That would tie in with her phone records. The last call from her phone was made just before she went back that afternoon."
"Forensics will be able to give us an estimate on how old the blood in the house is. The report should be in by tomorrow morning"
"What else did you get on her phone?" Jack asked Martin.
"Not much, but there is a pattern. Her cell phone records show almost no activity in the last three months, aside from calls to Diane about twice a week, along with a few calls to her mother and her husband's office. Nothing probative. Then suddenly, the day after Diane was killed, she started making an average of ten calls a day. Most of them to a cell phone, we're still working on it. But it was probably one of the cell phones she used. In total, she made twenty-five calls between the night Diane was killed and the last time she was seen.
She must have known something. Her behaviour radically changed the night that Diane was murdered."
"We've been looking for the common factor between Lydia and Diane, right? But aside from the money, we've found nothing. Nobody knew they had anything to do with each other, no one has ever seen them together. I noticed that in Diane's apartment. She had a Bible on her nightstand, and it looked like she had been reading it quite a lot. But no one we talked to ever mentioned her being religious. The same with Lydia, she has been reading the Bible and books about Christianity and its history. But her husband said she wasn't involved in any church. Maybe that's where they met."
"But why would they be hiding it? It's obvious that Lydia didn't want her husband to know what she was doing. She made it stories to cover up where she was going. And I didn't get the impression that her husband was particularly against religion."
"Maybe they got caught up in some sort of sect or cult. They often swear their members to secrecy, they have to promise not to tell anyone about the group," Danny proposed.
"Wow, you know your way around. But maybe there is something to it. The cottage is the only place on the road where Diane was killed. So it is quite possible that she was heading to the cottage or with someone who was going there. Now we can exclude Liam Kendall's brother, he wouldn't be capable of it. We know she wasn't with her ex-husband when she left the club. We have another man to find. I suggest we start with finding Liam Kendall."
"That's pretty far-fetched. But run the owner of the cottage and see what you come up with."
"Already did that. As we already know, it's owned by Liam Kendall, who inherited the property and the surrounding forest from his father. His father seems to have inherited the land directly from the Almighty himself. No property records of a pervious owner are available. Mr. Kendall has never had a job or an encounter with law enforcement, as far as our records go. We haven't gotten any further on this."
"Social security might be able to help us on that. If he's fake, we'll find out about it," Martin suggested.
"That's pretty thin, from where I'm standing." Vivian said.
"Maybe, we'll follow up on it. Sam, you and Danny already made a bad impression on Mr. Kendall. Vivian and I will pay him another visit while you two canvas the churches in Diane's and Lydia's neighbourhood. Maybe someone remembers them. Maritn, there're a lot of churches, so you're on it, too."
Samantha had the impression that Jack's gaze was lingering on her. He hadn't given her any assignment yet, and frankly there wasn't a lot she could do at the moment.
"Okay, get to work." Jack broke off the meeting. Once everyone except him and Samantha had left, he turned to her.
"Samantha, I need to talk to you about something," Jack said, as Samantha was about to put on her coat and get ready to leave the office for the day.
"Okay. What's it about?" she asked, fearing that he was going to bring up her field ability again. This time, she wasn't going to get away so easily. She was fully aware that it was within Jack's duty and responsibility to disqualify her from fieldwork, if she wasn't fit for it. There was a very real possibility that he was going to pull rank on her and order her to see the in-house psychologist.
"Let's talk in my office," Jack replied, evasively.
Now both intrigued and anxious, Samantha nodded and followed him.
They were almost at Jack's office when suddenly, Vivian's alarmed voice startled them.
"Jack, Sam, can you come over quickly?"
" NYPD just called. Diane's father called 911 twenty minutes ago. When the officers showed up at his home, they found the dead body of Tom Dyson. The father has already made a full confession. He claims that he avenged the murder of his daughter and grandchildren. He's been arrested."
Samantha and Jack listened, shell-shocked. DNA tests had shown that Tom Dyson had most likely been innocent in Diane's murder. But her parents had not known this. As far as they knew, Tom was guilty of murdering their daughter and, indirectly, two of their grandchildren.
Jack could understand Mr. Durkin's rage and need for revenge. Every father wanted to protect his children. He did not know and didn't want to know how he would react if he was ever faced with a similar situation. As much as he condemned vigilante justice, he understood the human emotion that had driven it. The need and responsibility to protect those he cared about was why he had wanted to talk to Samantha just before he had learned about this new development in their case.
Without looking up, he spoke. His voice was detached, belying the scene around him. It stood in stark contrast to the blood-spattered walls, the crime scene tape, the coroner's van parked outside.
He sat there, hunched over, elbows on his knees. There was still blood on his hands. He was bleeding from a gash on his forehead, probably a result of the struggle.
He had just killed a man, but spoke of it like it had happened to someone else.
"He ruined her. She always had a problem, but it got out of hand when she met him. Do you know she never did drugs before him. He left, but the drugs stayed. And with the drugs, she always got into trouble with the police. She spent every penny she had on drugs, stopped eating because she didn't have any more money. She was a happy girl, wild, but happy. He took all that away from my little girl, he killed her."
"Mr. Durkin. We don't think that Tom Dyson killed your daughter. He was under police surveillance for the last week."
"He's guilty. He killed her; he took her life and her happiness away. The son of a bitch got what he deserved." There was an air of finality in his voice. He had done what he had felt he had to do, aware of the consequences. He was a man resigned to accepting his fate and paying the price for his actions.
"What about your grandson? He needs you now."
Mr. Durkin said nothing. He didn't move. He didn't resist when the police officers cuffed him and led him out.
"He isn't going to talk to us," Vivian remarked.
"No, he found his scapegoat. For him, Tim Dyson will always be the murderer of his daughter," Samantha said, sadly.
"We don't know either way. All we have is that they are pretty certain. And even the DNA sample will only tell us so much, " Vivian said with dissatisfaction. It was one of those cases where a shadow of doubt would always remain, and the only people who could tell the truth were either dead or refused to talk.
"It could place him with her." Samantha was referring to the DNA sample. "That would be more than we have at the moment. She met with a stranger, got hit by a car and was shot several hours after that."
"It wasn't him," Jack said with conviction.
"DNA will tell. So, where do we look now?"
"We wait for the DNA test, and go back for her friend, Lydia Atkinson. She is the last person we know talked to her, and now she is missing as well. She knew something. Chances are that the person connected to her disappearance was also involved with Diane's death."
"This case. I don't get it. Every way we turn, it gets more confusing, more people and more secrets. I just can't see how it's all connected together." Samantha sighed.
"Do you have a theory?"
"No. That's the problem. Normally, I can see the possibilities, but here, nothing."
"I think the key is in whatever Diane and Lydia were doing together. Both had a secret together, and Lydia was paying Diane for something. Whatever this is, I think it might be the key. But to tell the truth, I have no idea what it could be."
There was nothing left to do but return to the office and face the mountain of paperwork. He knew that he could still continue where he and Samantha had left off. But he felt drained. Maybe he had just overreacted. He decided to put it off until he got a good night's sleep. The day had been long and rough for all of them, no need to add personal aggravation. Truth was he was tired and unwilling to enter a confrontation. Fortunately Maria had long given up on complaining about his irregular hours. Their eveningly conversations were reduced the long looks filled with resignation and disappointment. He wasn't looking forward to coming home at night.
