Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Sure. We should get some decent records from the lab when you execute the warrant later as well.”
That was Laurel’s plan. “Afterward, please go through the footage of that bar and see if anybody took an interest in either Melissa or Tyler. Expand the search to all CCTV in the area. If businesses aren’t willing to assist, obtain a warrant.”
“I’ll try, and hopefully many of the places still have the footage from that night.” Nester sneezed. “The warrant for Oakridge should be ready in a couple of hours. Do you want me to keep the Seattle office in the loop?”
Laurel was enjoying working with Agent Norrs. “Yes, please do. Thanks.”
Kate called down the hallway. “Hey. Walter is here with a guy in handcuffs. Looks like they rolled in the mud together. They’re on the way up.”
Chapter 28
Laurel studied the man across from her while Walter leaned against the doorframe of the conference room, his arms crossed. Mud coated his body, and he bled from a narrow scrape along his jawline.
Tom Foster stared at her, shifting like the chair bothered his muddy body. His hoodie was soaked through and still faintly singed. He smelled of wet leaves, burnt powder, and synthetic fabric that hadn’t been washed in a long time. Nester had pulled his record: petty theft, drugs, vandalism, a long list of nothing important. Until now.
“You set off an explosive device in a federal mailbox,” Laurel said. “Explain.”
Tom blinked fast, then licked his lips. “I wasn’t trying to blow anything up. It was just firecrackers. I didn’t know the thing would actually go.”
“You tampered with mail intended for a federal agent,” she said.
He winced. “I didn’t know it was his mailbox. Honest.”
Walter pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “What exactly were you looking for?”
The suspect hesitated. “A letter. Maybe. The lady wasn’t clear.”
“What lady?” Walter growled.
“I don’t know her name.” Foster squirmed, the cuffs clinking faintly. “She found me outside a bar in Elk Hollow. Said there might be an envelope showing up at a certain box at your address, and it needed to be taken.”
Laurel twirled her pen in her hand. How did the woman know about the envelope? “What did she look like?”
He gulped. “I was kinda drunk. She was probably average height, slim, and wore a black hoodie and jeans? Sunglasses covered her eyes. White chick. Probably in her thirties or forties. Maybe fifties. I don’t know.”
“How did she find you?” Laurel asked.
Foster shrugged. “Hell if I know. I mean, I do have a reputation for getting things done.”
Laurel seriously doubted that statement. She looked up, expecting fury on Walter’s face. Instead, his eyes glimmered and a smile flashed for a second. He caught her gaze and sobered instantly. “What bar did she find you at?”
Foster picked mud off his chin. “I don’t know the name. Neon owl sign. Cheap beer. She walked up while I was smoking.”
“Did she tell you what might be in the envelope?” Walter asked, tone low and flat.
“Nope. She said it might show up and that I should watch for two weeks. Just look for the name of Tyler Griggs, or one without a return address. Or anything handwritten. But you didn’t get anything like that. You get all junk and bills, man.”
Walter snorted.
Laurel paused, looking up at him. He was amused?
He sobered again. “You didn’t ask the woman any questions?”
Foster shifted his weight and winced. “She was offering five hundred bucks to grab a letter. Or destroy it if I couldn’t. She paid half up front.”
Walter took a step back, crossed his arms, then gave the faintest, briefest smile.
Laurel blinked. Noted it. Continued. “All right, Tom. Here’s the deal. If you help us, we’ll help you. Right now you’re looking at a felony.”
Foster groaned. “Dude. I was drunk. Didn’t see her car, didn’t even see her arrive or leave. I want to help. I do.”
Walter glowered. “You’re a moron.”
There was the Walter Laurel adored. What in the world was going on with him?
“Ha,” Foster said. “A moron wouldn’t have brought firecrackers just in case he got caught, now would he? My job was to steal the info, and I would’ve, but you saw me. So I destroyed it.”
The man was a moron.
Walter glowered. “You could’ve killed somebody.”
Laurel shook her head. “So just to make sure I have this correctly. You carried out a potentially lethal act for an unnamed woman, on behalf of an anonymous sender, targeting a letter you weren’t sure existed?”
Foster looked up at the ceiling and groaned. Loudly. “I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like conspiracy, tampering with federal property, and destruction of evidence,” she said. “Among other probable crimes.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” he said, quieter now.
What had been in that box? Laurel glanced at the one remaining piece. They’ll kill everyone, I’m afraid. It made sense that Tyler had sent his half brother, the FBI agent, information in case of his death. Why hadn’t Laurel thought of that? Was her head still on vacation? Or did the sniper have her more concerned than she believed? At least Walter and Ena had tried to collect all of the pieces before the rain ruined them, and right now evidence techs were out at the scene. She wasn’t holding out hope for anything substantial, though.