Act of Mercy – Chapter Ten
"And you're sure it's him?" Art asked.
Sometime that morning Tim had jumped out of his seat, grabbed at the photo he'd sent to the printer and marched it victoriously over to Rachel's desk.
"And you're sure it's him?" Rachel had asked, staring at the face.
Tim's confident reply had her now at the receiving end of the same five words forming the same question from Art.
Rachel turned to Tim who was just barely inside Art's office, still feeling like a pretend Marshal, leaning against the door frame, needing support maybe in his new role. He's always leaning. Rachel flashed the thought while she framed her reply for Art. The 'always' took her by surprise. Tim hadn't been there three weeks even, yet he was already 'always'.
"Tim says so," she offered her boss finally as assurance, offered it confidently.
Art got up and walked in front of his desk, stood between them, made a face to match the what-the-hell arm motion. "Tim says so. That's great. Let's form a posse," he exclaimed sardonically.
Rachel and Tim exchanged a quick glance, solidarity. Art was happy to see it. He reached around and picked up the folder, flicking his eyes down to the photo on top then quickly up again, not wanting to linger there, and handed it back to her.
"He got out just over a year ago; been living quietly in Pensacola. Why would he pop up now in Kentucky?" Art asked, serious again. There was no reply for him. "Any current warrants on him?"
Rachel shook her head.
"Well, we can't really do much with a nighttime identification in a dark forest." Art held up a hand, stopping any defensive retorts. "Look, I'm not saying I don't believe you."
"But…" Rachel prodded.
"But it's nothing we can proceed with. Let's just keep looking for Price since he's on our list, and see who or what else you stumble across on your hunt. I'll make a phone call to Florida." He rubbed his head vigorously, agitated, indicated the folder again. "If Hill does show up in Kentucky, then your ID will have some teeth."
"Chief, if Hill does end up being our third guy," Rachel added, "then it's likely they're setting up another ring right here."
"I don't want to get ahead of ourselves," Art cautioned, "but by all means, spend some time on it. Maybe start with questioning anyone on the registry who's living in the area."
"I'm already compiling a list," she replied.
"Good," he said, leveling a look at her, a pause and a statement asking to be heard unspoken. "I hate this shit."
She nodded, clearly hearing the silence.
Tim followed Rachel back to her desk, stuffed his hands in his pockets as she sat back down at her computer.
"So?" he started and opened his face up in invitation.
"So what?" she prompted.
"Do you two communicate like that all the time?" he asked, motioning toward the Chief's office with his head.
She arched an eyebrow. Tim soldiered on.
"I know I've probably got some hearing loss from too much time with a rifle, but there was definitely more to that conversation than was audible to the human ear."
Rachel pulled her eyes off her screen and slapped them on Tim. "And it's any of your business?"
"No, ma'am," he said flatly, turning away.
Her eyes stayed with him as he moved back to his desk. She glanced at her watch, stood up and followed him.
"Lunch?"
"I'm sorry," he replied, cupping a hand behind his ear, speaking loudly. "Did you say 'hunch'?"
She pressed her lips together, refraining from escalating the sarcasm.
Tim grinned. "Thank you, yes, I'm starving." He stood up quickly and shrugged into his jacket. "I ran out of your mom's leftovers before breakfast on Saturday."
She couldn't decide if he was joking or not. Probably not. He followed her happily to her favorite diner.
"Art was part of a Fugitive Task Force involved in the arrest of a pedophile following a federal operation that busted a larger group running an internet ring," she explained when they were eating, waving a hand and half a sandwich. "Back before he became a bureau chief. They found all kinds of pictures in the guy's apartment. I don't think you can ever get the feel of that off of you."
"No. You can't."
She thought again about the story he had tried to tell her the previous week and didn't doubt that he understood Art's feelings.
"Anyway, Hill was that pedophile and Art was pretty angry for a while when he found out he'd been released last year."
"Oh." Tim nodded, getting it.
"So we've got a meth-cooker from Tennessee, an internet fraudster from Washington State and now this guy, Hill, a reformed pedophile, from Florida," she summarized. "How would they possibly have gotten together in Kentucky?"
"Internet. I keep up with my friends that way. They're scattered all over," Tim replied then added, "…literally, and I mean all over…the world."
"This is when I wish I worked for the FBI," Rachel commented, almost a longing. "Internet is their baby, but it's impossible to get information out of them."
Tim pulled out his phone and started texting.
"Girlfriend?" Rachel teased, trying on a new attitude.
"I haven't been here long enough. Give me a month, will you?" he replied easily.
"Your mom?" she quipped, enjoying it.
"And it's any of your business?" He threw her words back at her then grinned again with a little mischief. "Friend at the FBI, actually. And if you're nicer to me, maybe I'll share whatever I get from him."
"As long as it's not contagious." She was on a roll now.
He shot a full-on glare her way. "I said nicer. And wait till you meet him. You'll be wanting to catch it from him personally. All the girls like Neil." He went back to his texting, added, "Now be quiet and let me do this. I don't want my thumbs messing up and accidentally asking him on a date for you. The guy's a sleaze. I'd hate to see you heart-broken."
"I can't imagine you with friends, even sleazy ones," she jabbed, purposely ignoring the threat and interrupting his thumbs.
"Oops, is that your phone number?" He held the display up and squinted at it. "Wouldn't want to slip and hit 'send' now, would I?" He hit send, gave her a slapstick 'O'. "If he shows up at your door Friday night, remember it was your fault."
Rachel smiled. She decided she liked the way things were going with Tim. It was easier, the joking camaraderie, than keeping up the cold front. Despite Art's warning, she found she was enjoying Tim's sarcasm, whipped egg whites to lighten her world-weary days.
After lunch they started making the rounds, one name at a time, one address at a time, showing Price's photo and searching each face for a reaction then holding up the photo of their second man, Quentin Hill, searching again.
Even Tim knew it was a long shot, but neither Price nor Hill had any known connections in the state. They had nowhere else to start, no leads except that both men had last been seen running through the dark in a forest about a forty-five minute drive outside of Lexington, without jackets, on a bone-chilling, damp February night. They trudged into the office later, empty handed.
"They must've had a car parked somewhere nearby that night," Tim suggested.
"Let's check a map tomorrow. Maybe you can drive back down to the Sheriff's office and get a firsthand account of the search," Rachel said. "I'll have another go with Randy Sullivan. But right now, I've got to get home. It's Mom's night out with her girlfriends."
"How's Nick doing?"
"He keeps asking me the craziest things," she answered off-hand.
"Really? Like what?"
"Like, did I really bitch-slap an FBI agent?"
Tim stiffened, raised both hands. "I did not use the word bitch-slap."
She ran him through with a look, pinned him to the desk opposite hers with her disapproval and suspicion.
"He wants to know when you're coming back to play Xbox." It was a demand.
Tim shut his eyes, thinking fast. "Uh, Sunday night?" he offered himself hostage for safe passage past her desk.
"Good answer. We'll see you for dinner."
Best ribs in Louisville 2 minutes from work. Friday. Asshole doesn't bother to call until he wants something. Fax to follow.
Tim read the text and grinned, sent back: If I have to drive to Lville just so you can say hi, you're paying.
Art walked over as Tim was finishing.
"Good to see you keeping your thumbs in shape," he remarked, then held up a fax for Tim to see, jabbed a finger at the heading. "Who is Mr. Benjamin Corey and why do we have his phone records and why does it say Federal Bureau of Investigation on top of these phone records and how much trouble am I in if they find this in my office?"
Tim looked up blankly, his grin sliding into neutral.
Art looked back, snapped his fingers with inspiration, pointed at Tim. "Right, you're the new guy. Come on in my office and explain why your name is on this fax, Deputy Gutterson."
Tim looked over to Rachel for help. Art followed his gaze.
"Good idea. Rachel, why don't you join us?"
Tim took his cue from Rachel and sat in one of the chairs facing Art's desk. Art slapped the fax down in front of them.
"So, Tim, do the Rangers have some secret code for getting into the FBI database?"
Tim was still trying to decide if there was a problem here, and hesitated replying.
"How did you get this?" Rachel translated.
"I have a friend who works in the Louisville office."
Art sat back, frowned. "Huh, really?"
Tim nodded.
"Well, Rachel, sorry. I know you've worked hard, but…Tim's now my favorite deputy."
She smiled and picked up the fax and Tim leaned toward her to read it, too.
"Huh," said Rachel, then Tim.
"Huh, what?" asked Art.
Rachel turned the page around and pointed at two phone numbers circled, beside each was a different name, Price and Hill. The phone listing was for a small computer repair company in Lexington, run by a Mr. Benjamin Corey. At the bottom was a handwritten note: Okay buddy, what do you know that we don't? We're looking at Price. What's with Hill?
Rachel then tapped a third number, said, "And that's Randy Sutherland's cell. I guess I'll be going back for yet another chat."
"Isn't cooperation wonderful?" Art remarked. "We should do it more often."
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