The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [103]
“We don’t know that Quincy harmed his father.”
“Abraham Quincy is a bedridden Alzheimer’s patient. He’s now been missing from the nursing home for over twenty-four hours. That’s not good.”
“Papa Quincy was checked out by Pierce Quincy, bearing proper ID.”
“Anyone can get a fake driver’s license.”
“Yeah, and anyone can use a real one. Glenda, we got no body. For all we know, Abraham is tucked away at some nice posh resort, courtesy of his son. When the police buy Quincy’s story of the phantom stalker, Abraham will promptly reappear, having magically escaped his evil captor. Or maybe Quincy will phone in an anonymous tip and the searching agents can rescue his dad. Either way, no harm, no foul, and Quincy’s story is better all the time.”
“It’s too far-fetched!” Glenda protested. “Three more reasons: One, you saw Pierce in Philadelphia and there wasn’t a mark on him.”
“Quick kill. Plus, police have found blood in the drainpipes. Killer cleaned up at the scene.”
“Two, you still have no motive. Quincy and his wife have been divorced for years. You’re talking about a long, complicated scheme leading up to a particularly brutal murder. Why? The marriage is old business.”
“I don’t know that part,” Montgomery conceded. “But it’s still early. Maybe she never took him off her life insurance. Maybe he blames her for the daughter’s death. Give me time. I’ll work on it.”
“Ah-hah,” Glenda announced triumphantly. “Three, the daughter’s death—Quincy has evidence that it wasn’t an accident. She was murdered. Probably the stalker’s first victim.”
“What?” That brought Montgomery up short. “I thought the daughter was an MVA. Drunk driving. How does a DUI become murder?”
“Someone tampered with the driver’s seat belt, rendering it useless. And there’s evidence that someone else was sitting in the passenger’s seat. The Virginia state police are investigating it now.”
“Maybe the daughter tampered with the seat belt. Maybe it was suicide.”
“Why tamper with the seat belt?” Glenda asked dryly. “Why not simply not wear it?”
“Oh.” Montgomery was flummoxed. He shifted around his bulk, then grimaced. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “Have to think about it.”
“It’s a complicated case,” Glenda said softly. “Three family members of a fellow agent are now dead or missing. We shouldn’t be rushing to conclusions about Quincy, or anyone else.”
“That’s not what Everett said.”
“You already presented this to Everett?” Glenda’s voice raised a notch.
“Sure, I called him last night. If Quincy really is our killer, the Bureau is going to have a little bit of egg on its face.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. Dammit!”
“I can’t speak to Everett? Christ, you really do hate my guts.” Montgomery wandered over to the refrigerator.
Glenda remained poised in the middle of the kitchen. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. Her heart was beating too fast. She was angrier than she’d ever been, angrier than she probably should’ve been. Except . . . Except Everett would now call Quincy back. The SAC would have no choice. He’d bring Quincy back and if there really was someone out to get him . . .
You asshole, Montgomery. Why couldn’t you wait? What’s one more afternoon, one more day of due diligence? Stupid son of a bitch.
The phone rang; the answering machine clicked on. Glenda raised a hand, and began to slowly and methodically rub her temples. It didn’t ease the ache. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Montgomery raised interesting points, and if Quincy had committed the murder then it was her job to track him down.
And yet, if he hadn’t. If he’d told the truth . . .
Then they were doing exactly what the UNSUB wanted. Three highly skilled federal agents were dancing to a killer’s tune. And Quincy, what could he do if Everett ordered him to come in? The minute he walked through Bureau doors, he would be forced to surrender his creds and his gun. He wouldn’t be much help to his daughter then. But what was his other option? Become an outlaw to protect Kimberly? It would never