Page 2

Present day

Bend FBI office

Deschutes County sheriff’s detective Noelle Marshall followed the office manager, Melissa, down the hall at the FBI’s satellite office in Bend, Oregon.

It was a small facility with five special agents and a number of support staff.

Noelle knew most of the employees from prior cases and considered Special Agent Mercy Kilpatrick a close friend.

She scanned the offices as they passed, keeping an eye out for Mercy, half listening as Melissa chatted nonstop about cross-country skiing.

It was an icy-cold January morning in Bend, and the deep-blue skies made the snow-topped Cascade mountains look crisp and fresh.

Her Friday morning was off to a good start.

She was having a good hair day, and the man in line ahead of her at the coffee shop had paid for her latte without hitting on her.

He’d given her a solemn nod and stridden out the door before the barista had told her what he’d done.

Deciding to pass on the favor, Noelle had glanced back and seen a group of four teenage girls waiting behind her.

Her free coffee had suddenly become expensive, but she was in a happy mood.

She’d left thirty dollars to cover the girls’ drinks and stepped out into the brisk, sunny morning, eager to get to the meeting the FBI had requested, hoping it had new information about her bank robbery case.

The office manager stopped at a door labeled Conference Room 1 , still rambling on about skiing. A chatty Melissa was nothing new, but Noelle realized she hadn’t made eye contact the entire time. Noelle’s latte suddenly felt heavy in her stomach.

Something’s up.

Melissa rapped on the door, opened it, and stood back so Noelle could enter.

Her gaze briefly met Noelle’s and then darted away.

Her suspicions raised, Noelle steeled her spine and stepped inside.

The sunny conference room contained a long table, and at the far end, two men stood as she entered.

Her eyes locked on the video camera set up between them.

It pointed at the only unoccupied chair in the room.

They removed the other chairs so I’d have to sit there.

She didn’t like being manipulated. Standing at the foot of the table, she studied the two men, each of whom had hung his suit jacket on the back of his chair.

White dress shirts and ties. FBI ID’s on lanyards around their necks.

The man on her left had salt-and-pepper hair.

The sun shining through the window behind them kept her from clearly seeing his eyes. The other man had a close beard and—

Hello, latte man.

He was tall with wide shoulders. His lips quirked, and she knew he recognized her too.

“Good morning, Detective,” said the first man. “I’m Special Agent Keaton, and this is Special Agent Rhodes. We’re out of the Sacramento FBI office. I’ll be filming this interview.”

“Why?” She felt ambushed.

“For the record,” said Keaton.

Noelle let the silence hang for five seconds as she gazed from one man to the other. “No one told me I would be filmed. Something tells me this isn’t a meeting about my bank robbery case.”

“That’s correct,” said Keaton. “I’m sorry if you felt misled.”

“I was misled,” Noelle corrected harshly. “Why am I here?”

“We’re taking another look at the unsolved murder of Assemblyman Derrick Bell. This is simply a fact-finding interview.”

Her lungs stopped, and she fought to keep her composure. “You could have shared that information when you set up this meeting.” She looked straight at Special Agent Rhodes, who’d been silent so far.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk with us,” said Keaton, not acknowledging her comment. “Please have a seat.” He gestured at the solo available chair. “Can I get you some water or coffee?”

Noelle tipped her to-go cup toward Agent Rhodes. “I’ve been taken care of.” She didn’t move toward the empty seat.

Another long pause.

Agent Keaton shifted his weight and picked up the pen next to his legal notepad. “It’s been thirteen years since the assemblyman’s death—”

“I know how long it’s been,” she snapped. “Is that camera on?”

“It is,” said Keaton. “Would you please have a seat?” A hint of pleading touched his tone.

“I have a noon appointment to interview a hit-and-run suspect at the jail,” said Noelle. “How long will this take? Or is rehashing an old case more important than yesterday’s accident that killed a grandmother?” A faint ringing had started in her ears.

“We’re conducting in-depth interviews with everyone involved in the assemblyman’s case, looking for new facts and leads,” said Keaton. “I recommend you cancel your appointment.”

“I don’t have any new leads for you about Derrick Bell.” She looked at Agent Rhodes. “Does your partner not speak?”

“Please have a seat, Detective,” said Rhodes.

His eyes also weren’t visible due to the sun. The golden light felt like a spotlight on her face and sent sharp pains through her head.

“Can you tilt the blinds?” she asked, shading her eyes, trying to fight the ache at the back of her skull.

Rhodes immediately reached for the cord.

She paused and then took a seat, fuming at the way she’d been tricked into the interview.

But there’s no point in annoying the FBI.

Both men sat, a sense of relief hovering around them.

Now that she could read their expressions, a small sense of control returned.

“Thank you, Detective,” said Keaton, his gray gaze meeting hers. “We have several questions about the assemblyman’s—your husband’s—murder.”