Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [156]
“I arrived late at the scene, the USGS personnel had already started analyzing data, and there was nothing I could do.”
“You could’ve forced them away until the real professionals arrived.”
“They are experts in the field—”
“They are not trained forensic technicians—”
“They’ve identified three different sites!” Quincy was yelling again and about to start swearing, too. Really, the last twenty-four hours had been a banner day of emotional outbursts for him. He forced himself to take another deep breath. Time for logic, diplomacy, and calm rationality. Failing that, he’d have to kill the son of a bitch. “We need your help,” he insisted.
“You fucked this case.”
“This case was already fucked. Four girls missing, three now dead. Agent, we have one last shot at doing this right. One girl, in the middle of a hundred-thousand-acre swamp. Call in the rescue teams, find that girl, get the headlines. It really is that simple.”
Special Agent Harkoos scowled. “I don’t like you,” he said, but his voice had lost its vehemence. Quincy had spoken the truth, and it was hard to argue with headlines. “You have behaved in an unorthodox manner which has put prosecuting this case in jeopardy,” Harkoos grumbled. “Don’t think I’m going to forget that.”
“Call in the rescue teams, find that girl, get the headlines,” Quincy repeated.
“The Dismal Swamp, huh? Is it as bad as its name sounds?”
“Most likely, yes.”
“Shit.” Harkoos dug out his cell phone. “Your people had better be right.”
“My people,” Quincy said tersely, “haven’t been wrong yet.”
Quincy had no sooner left the building to rejoin Rainie and Nora Ray at the car when his cell phone rang. It was Kaplan, calling from Quantico.
“Do you have Ennunzio in custody?” the special agent demanded to know.
“It’s not him,” Quincy said. “Try his brother.”
“Brother?”
“According to Ennunzio, his older brother murdered their mom thirty years ago. Burned her to death. Ennunzio hasn’t seen him since, but his brother once left a note at their parents’ grave, bearing the same message as the notes now sent by the Eco-Killer.”
“Quincy, according to Ennunzio’s personnel records, he doesn’t have a brother.”
Quincy drew up short, frowning now as he stood beside Rainie. “Maybe he doesn’t consider him family anymore. It’s been thirty years. Their last time together was hardly a Kodak moment.”
There was a pause. “I don’t like this,” Kaplan said. “Something’s wrong. Look, I was calling because I just got off the phone with Ennunzio’s secretary. Turns out, two years ago, he took a three-month leave of absence to have major surgery. The doctors removed a tumor in his brain. According to his secretary, Ennunzio started complaining of headaches again six months ago. She’s been really worried about him.”
“A tumor . . .”
“Now, you’re the expert, but brain tumors can impact behavior, correct? Particularly ones growing in the right place . . .”
“The limbic system,” Quincy murmured, closing his eyes and thinking fast. “In cases of brain trauma or tumors, you often see a marked change in behavior in the subject—increased irascibility, we call it. Normally mild-mannered people become violent, aggressive, use foul language.”
“Maybe even go on a murder spree?”
“There have been some instances of mass murder,” Quincy replied. “But something this cold and calculated . . . Then again, a tumor might trigger psychotic episodes, paving the way. Special Agent, are you at a computer? Can you look up the name David Ennunzio for me? Search birth and death records, Lee County, Virginia.”
Rainie was watching him curiously now. Nora Ray as well. “Isn’t David Dr. Ennunzio’s first name?” Rainie whispered.
“That’s what we all assumed.”
“Assumed?” Her eyes widened and he knew she was getting it, too. Why should you never assume something when working an investigation? Because it made an ass out of you and me. Kaplan was already back on the line.
“According to the obits, David Joseph Ennunzio died July 14, 1972, at the age of thirteen. He was killed in a house fire along with his mother. They are survived