"Any luck?"
Charlie looked up from his chalkboard as Megan entered his office. "Nothing of any more significance. I've lowered the parameters again, but if I lower them anymore the results will no longer be meaningful." He gave her a hopeful look. "I don't suppose you have any new data for me?"
"Sorry. The lab says they should have the results from the explosion by the end of tomorrow. I'll get them to you as soon as I have them." She wearily sank onto the corner of Charlie's desk. "This is getting very difficult. I'm having to run non-stop to get you what you need and still perform my other duties without arousing suspicion."
"I know. Dad keeps asking me why I'm working so late, and if I know why Don hasn't come over recently. I know he suspects something, but he hasn't tried to call me on it yet." He turned to the board and tapped his chalk against it as he ran the numbers through his head for the millionth time. "I've got to be missing something." His eyes widened as a thought formed in his head. "What if..." He turned to Megan, his eyes lit up with excitement. "What if it's not someone from one of Don's old cases? What is he working on right now?"
"Not much at all. His field time is limited, so he's mainly been catching up on reports from recent closed cases. I can't think of any that would lead to death threats."
"Still, if I could just run them through the filter, too – you never know."
"Alright," Megan relented. "I'll see if I can get you a copy of those." She looked at her watch and wearily stood. "Don's expecting me in a couple of hours. I'll check in with you tomorrow, okay?"
Charlie nodded and Megan left him alone, staring at the blackboard with such a look of helplessness that it broke her heart.
--
"You missed dinner."
Charlie ducked his head as he recognized the hurt in his father's voice. "Sorry, Dad. I have this project-"
"So you've been saying," Alan tersely cut him off. "I don't know what kind of mess you and your brother have gotten yourselves into, but I've had just about enough of it."
Charlie let his father continue to vent as he thumbed through the mail. A sales flyer, the power bill, and... a nondescript white envelope addressed to Don. "Dad."
Alan paused, shocked that his youngest son had the nerve to interrupt him mid-lecture. "What?" he snapped.
"This letter to Don – when did you get it?"
"It came today. Odd that Don would use your address for any of his mail."
Charlie's stomach plummeted as he realized what he was holding. He walked to the couch in a trance, oblivious to his father's concern filled voice asking him what was wrong. Charlie knew he shouldn't open the letter, knew that there could be evidence in this one, knew that there were procedures and protocols to be followed, but also knew he could never live with himself if he didn't open it. His shaking fingers managed to unseal the flap and he pulled out a single piece of neatly folded, white paper. He steeled himself and unfolded the letter, finding three sentences and the dreaded name: 'Close one at the apartment – I waited on purpose. I didn't want you dead yet, just scared. Did it work? Grim Reaper' Charlie felt tears forming in his eyes. So the threats weren't a hoax – someone really was trying to kill Don.
He wasn't aware that Alan had moved to his side until the letter was pulled from his hand. "No! Dad, wait-"
"What in the hell is this?" Alan demanded in a voice filled with both sadness and anger. "This was addressed to your brother?"
"Dad be careful – there may be evidence-"
"Answer my question this minute, Charles Edward Eppes!"
He cringed at the use of his full name, and cursed himself for being so careless as to let Alan see it. "I will, Dad. But first we need to call Megan. There could be important forensic evidence on this letter, and the FBI needs to examine it as soon as possible." Seeing that his father seemed to be listening to reason, Charlie pulled out his cell and dialed Megan. "There's been another letter. This one was sent to Don at my address." After Megan assured him she was on her way, he turned his attention back to his father. "You're going to want to sit down for this."
Charlie spent the next twenty minutes describing the letters that Don had received, the FBI's suspicions about their origins, and Don's apparent nonchalance about the whole situation. He felt an enormous sense of guilt overtaking him: for lying to Don about working on the case, for letting his father find out about the threats, and - most importantly- for not identifying the culprit. He had just finished catching Alan up to speed and convincing him a trip to Don's motel room would only worsen the situation when Megan arrived. She gave Charlie a disappointed look as she slipped the envelope and the letter into an evidence bag. "You know better, Charlie."
"I'm sorry." She saw the remorse in his eyes and immediately felt bad about chastising him.
"I understand why you did it, but remember – little things like this can keep guilty people from going to jail."
"I know. It won't happen again." He grabbed her elbow as she turned to leave. "I think I have something. Come to the garage for a minute." He led her to his work area and gestured to a map of southern California that he'd taped onto a board. There were four red pins stuck into the map, at seemingly random positions. "These are the four locations where the previous threats were mailed. I used the information from the postmarks and the date stamp to plot them." He pointed at the bag. "This one was mailed from California City." He pushed another red pin into the board. Now the previous random pattern of four pins became significant – forming a jagged line from the heart of Los Angeles to Sylmar, then Santa Clarita, then Lancaster, and ending in California City.
"He – or she – is moving further away from the city as the threats escalate."
"My thoughts exactly." He smiled. "I can run my analysis again, using these cities as significant factors for involvement. It should only take a couple of hours." He grimaced and hid his face behind the nearest chalkboard. "Um, Don didn't want Dad to know about this."
Megan sighed. The Eppes family better make her their honorary sister and daughter after everything she was doing for them. "No problem, Charlie. I'll talk to him."
--
"Another letter?" Megan nodded at Colby who was leaned against her desk. "What'd Don say?"
"You know how he is." Megan thought for a minute, recalling the distracted look and worry lines she'd noticed on Don's face when she'd told him the latest news. "Although I think this one shook him up a bit."
"Is he going into full time protective custody?"
"No, just an escort to and from work and the agents on the room at night." She looked at Don's current case files on her desk – the ones she'd shown Charlie earlier that day. "We have to catch this s.o.b, and soon. It's starting to take its toll on the whole family."
"If the lab would hurry up and get those results-" Colby was cut off as Megan's cell phone rang.
"Speak of the devil," she muttered as she flipped it open. "Reeves. Uh huh. Really? Can you fax them to me? No, not tomorrow – today! This is urgent. Thank you." She stood as she hung up, and walked to the fax machine. "It wasn't an accident."
"Damn," Colby swore as he followed her.
"It was detonated by remote, and they have a complete chemical breakdown of the bomb's composition. They're running the particulars through their database, trying to identify a suspect."
"How long?"
She shrugged as she impatiently drummed her fingers on the fax machine. "They couldn't give me an estimate." She sighed and glanced around to make sure Don wasn't nearby. "But I know someone who can help."
--
"Charlie!"
Startled, he whipped around at the sound of his name, dropping his chalk to the floor. "Megan? What? Is there any..." He trailed off as he saw Colby. "What's up?"
"He knows, Charlie. He was there when I got the latest news." She handed him a file with the forensics report on the bomb. Charlie paled as he rapidly scanned it, every word sinking into his brain.
"Oh no," he breathed, sinking into his chair. "Where's Don? Is he still okay?"
"He's fine, Charlie. Stubborn and mule headed, but fine." She walked to his board and looked at numbers cascading from top to bottom in a language she didn't even pretend to understand. "Can you run another Bayesian Filter? With the new data?"
"Yes, of course." He rose and went to the board, grabbing the eraser and altering pieces of the equation. "It's going to take a few hours, though."
"What about the results of the last analysis?"
"Nobody was statistically significant. The highest probabilities were in the upper sixty percent range, and that was with the parameters set at an incredibly low end range."
"I understand, Charlie," Megan countered. "But if the suspect was in the files I gave you, there's a chance he scored in the sixtieth percentile, right?"
Charlie looked doubtful, but dug through the piled of paper on his desk until he came to the list of results. He handed them over. "Sixty percent or less with the variables set at the low end isn't a significant result," he reminded her.
She read the list as she replied, "Just because he or she scores low, doesn't mean he or she didn't do it."
"Makes sense to me," Colby added. "It's a percentage – a likelihood. If I were to hit you right now - without provocation - I would score low through an analysis like this, right? Doesn't mean I didn't do it."
"I understand what you're saying, but I just don't... feel it." At their confused looks, he suggested, "Mathematician's Instinct?"
Colby opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Megan. "Here it is! Patrick Robert Davies – convicted and sentenced to prison for arson. He was caught when he escalated from setting warehouse fires, including an FBI storage facility, to detonating a bomb in a new subdivision." She scanned the report. "He was convicted on only one count and sentenced to thirty-three months. He received time off for good behavior," she snorted, "And was released three weeks ago." She kept reading. "Davies was also reported to have threatened one Special Agent Don Eppes in the hallway outside the courtroom." She looked up. "I think this could be our guy, Charlie."
Colby had taken Davies' file from her and was reading it. "Looks like the bomb composition he used was the same as the one in Don's apartment. And he set the explosion three years ago using a remote detonator." He looked at Megan. "I think we should get the lab to take a look at this file."
"Right," she nodded. "And let's see if we can track down his whereabouts since his release." She followed Colby to the door, pausing to glance back at Charlie. "Can you still run the new filter? I'd love to have more to support our argument when obtaining the search warrant."
"Sure," Charlie agreed. He continued staring at the doorway long after she'd disappeared. Davies did seem like the perfect suspect, and yet his gut was screaming at him that they were closing in on the wrong man.
