Page 50 of Mean Streak

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U pon hearing the man introduce himself, Emory’s heart sank like a stone. She stood up, facing the entry, as Jeff led Sam Knight and the newcomer into the living area.

Jack Connell was of average height and weight, in his midforties. He was dressed in slacks, sport jacket, and overcoat, but in place of a tie, he had a wool scarf around his neck. His hair was reddish brown. There were dark crescents beneath his brown eyes. He looked road-weary.

Sam Knight said, “He insisted on coming to talk to y’all right away.” The detective sounded no happier about this meeting than she was. “Grange’s kid is sick, so I told him he could skip.”

“Dr. Charbonneau.” The FBI agent crossed over to her, removed his leather glove, and extended his right hand. “Jack Connell.”

“How do you do?” They shook hands. “I understand you got lost in the fog.”

He smiled with a chagrin that made him human and likable. She resisted the appeal of those traits. She didn’t want the man hunting Hayes Bannock to be engaging.

He said, “I was afraid I would drive off a cliff, so I pulled over at a roadside stand that sells boiled peanuts. Just a lean-to and a chicken wire fence securing the cauldron. There was no one around, but I stayed put until Sergeant Knight met me and guided me in the rest of the way.”

“I know firsthand how impenetrable the fog in the mountains can be.”

“I want to hear about that.”

They remained in an awkward tableau until she invited everyone to sit down.

The two arrivals discarded their outerwear.

With a noticeable lack of cordiality, Jeff offered them something from the minibar.

Jack Connell declined refreshment. Knight asked for a Diet Coke, adding, “And are there any peanuts or a snack of some kind?”

Emory returned to her place on the sofa.

Connell took the easy chair recently vacated by Jeff but moved aside the ottoman.

Yielding the floor to the federal agent, Knight carried his canned drink and a bag of cheddar-flavored popcorn to the dining table.

Jeff sat down beside Emory. She caught herself moving her knee from within touching distance of his.

Connell began. “Sergeant Knight provided me an overview of your experience. As soon as I read his e-mail, I traveled straight here. That fingerprint is the first tangible—”

“Excuse me. Fingerprint?”

He explained to her how it had been retrieved. “It’s the first tangible lead I’ve had on Bannock in years.”

“What did he do?”

“We’ll get to that, Dr. Charbonneau. And, by the way, we here in this room, and Sergeant Grange, are the only ones privy to this information, and for the time being I want it kept that way. Can I count on your discretion?”

Jeff said, “What’s the big secret? This individual is a fugitive or you wouldn’t be here.”

Connell said, “It’s sensitive,” then dismissed Jeff and directed his attention to Emory. “I’m very interested to hear firsthand about the time you spent with Bannock. Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”

She did so—omitting the personal aspects. “I assume you know about his altercation with the Floyd brothers?”

“Sergeant Knight filled me in,” Connell replied. “Bannock left them in bad shape.”

“After leaving their house, he drove me into Drakeland and let me out near the Chevron station.”

“Did he say why he let you out on the roadside?”

“No. But he…he did ask me not to call anyone until I reached the gas station.”

“Giving him a head start,” Connell said.

She didn’t tell him those had been Bannock’s words exactly.

“How’d he look?” the agent asked. “I mean overall. Healthy and fit?”

“Yes.”

“Did he seem depressed?”

“I wouldn’t call it depression.”

“What would you call it?”

She searched for a word to describe Hayes Bannock’s reticence. “Introspective.”

“Hmm. Was he hostile?”

“Toward the Floyds? Yes.”

“Toward you.”

“No.”

“Toward anything else?”

“Such as?”

“The government.”

She shook her head. “Not specifically.”

“What was his attitude about life in general?”

Again, she took time to find the right word. “He seemed resigned.”

The agent nodded as though he understood her meaning. “What did you two talk about?”

“Nothing substantive. Until a few hours ago, I didn’t even know his name.”

“What did he tell you about himself?”

“Virtually nothing. I guessed that he’d been in the military, and he more or less confirmed it. He didn’t say where he served or in what capacity, but I got the impression he saw combat.”

“He did.”

“On the subject of war, he said he didn’t recommend it.”

“He wouldn’t. He served in Afghanistan. Two deployments. Hard-core army. Did he mention his family?”

No bride. No wife. Not ever. She cleared a sudden hoarseness from her throat. “He told me he wasn’t married.”

“No, but he has a sister and niece in Seattle.”

Seattle, from where his rent was paid. “How old is the niece?”

“Twelve.”

Remembering how he’d been with Lisa, she thought he could probably easily win the affection of a twelve-year-old niece. And his sister? “Are he and his sister close?”

Connell grimaced. “Like you wouldn’t believe. In fact, just over twenty-four hours ago, I was in her house, trying to pry, cajole, wring information from her. She claimed not to know where he was.”

“Perhaps she didn’t.”

The agent shrugged, indicating it was no longer an issue. Bannock had been found. Or as good as.

“What else can you tell me about him, Dr. Charbonneau?” he asked.

He has a thunderbolt tattoo just above his groin. When I traced the design with my tongue, he warned me of consequences. I didn’t heed his warning.

“He keeps his promises,” she said softly. “He reads a lot. He repairs things.” She looked at Jeff. “He glued the stem of my sunglasses back together. He also builds things.” She described the bookshelves, the unfinished shed.

Connell said, “He holds a degree in constructional engineering.”

Beside her, Jeff had begun to fidget. “This is all thoroughly captivating, Mr. Connell. But does it have a point? What does any of this have to do with what Bannock did to Emory?”

Connell jumped on that. “You’re assuming that he knocked your wife unconscious and carried her away.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I would be very surprised,” the agent replied. “Shocked, actually.”

That took Jeff aback. Emory as well. She looked over at Knight, whose hand had been arrested in midair between the bag of popcorn and his open mouth.

Connell remained focused on her. “Is that what you believe happened to you that day on the trail?”

“When I woke up in his cabin, not knowing where I was or how I got there, my initial reaction was to be afraid of him. And for the first two days, I remained wary and cautious. I even made a couple of futile attempts to leave.”

“He stopped you?”

“Circumstances did. The weather. Then the situation with Lisa.”

“Okay. You were saying?”

“Over time, I came to believe that he hadn’t harmed me and didn’t intend to.”

“Truly, Dr. Charbonneau, I believe you were safe the entire time you were with him,” Connell said.

“It would have been totally out of character for him to see a woman alone, or anyone with whom he didn’t have a quarrel, and attack them.

He’s not a sexual predator either. That’s not what he’s about. ”

“Then what is he about?” Knight asked.

“Punishment. I suppose some would term it vengeance , but it’s less personal than that.”

“I believe the Floyd brothers would take personally what he did to them,” Jeff said.

“Actually punishment fits,” Knight said. “The deputy who interviewed Lisa speculated that her brothers had been messing with her and that’s how she got pregnant.”

They all looked to Emory, who said nothing. But her pained expression must have given her away.

Jack Connell sighed as he dragged his hand down his face. “That would light Bannock’s fuse, all right. But his grudge against the Floyds goes back farther than the abuse inflicted on their sister.”

Looking at Emory, he continued. “His moving to the mountain wilderness wasn’t coincidental. He tracked Norman and Will Floyd here. He was out to wreak havoc on them and was only biding his time. Did he tell you that?”

“I inferred it, and when I asked, he didn’t deny it, but he also didn’t explain what he held against them.”

“We’ll get to that, too. First I want to ask you about his cache of firearms. Knight told me Bannock shot at the Floyds.”

“He didn’t,” she said. “He had a pistol, but he never used it. He never even took it out.”

In his own defense, Knight spoke up. “Norman Floyd told our deputy that Bannock fired both barrels of a shotgun at them.”

“That’s a lie,” Emory said with emphasis. “It was their shotgun, not his, and he used it to shoot out their TV.” The three men registered astonishment, prompting her to relate the circumstances.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Knight said. “He wanted to keep them from collecting the reward, but he didn’t collect it himself.”

“He’s not about money either,” Connell said.

“Wouldn’t it be far more enlightening if you told us what he is into rather than what he isn’t ?”

Connell looked at Jeff, but didn’t acknowledge his catty remark. Coming back to Emory, he began asking her all the questions the detectives had already covered, but she answered them patiently. She apologized for not knowing the make and model of his truck.

“Don’t feel too bad,” the agent told her with a wry smile. “He would have ditched it by now anyway. Did he mention leaving?”

“Leaving town?” she asked.

“Leaving the area. Moving on, relocating.”

She shook her head.

“Did he mention a soccer coach in Salt Lake?”

“No.”

“A priest in Kentucky who resigned his parish and the priesthood, some believe under threat of death?”

“No.”

“A hairdresser in Wichita Falls, Texas?”

Emory shook her head in bafflement. “Why are you asking? What do these people have in common?”

The agent sat forward and propped his forearms on his thighs, speaking to her directly, as though they were the only ones in the room. “They have two things in common. Hayes Bannock.” He paused, took a breath. “And a mass shooting in Virginia that left eight people dead.”

You only thought you missed all the excitement of Virginia. His words to Norman Floyd.

Emory’s stomach lurched. Without even excusing herself, she shot off the sofa and took the stairs in record time. Upon reaching the bedroom, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it as though to keep out the horrific thoughts assailing her.

Mass shooting. Eight people. Dead.

Feeling faint and needing air, she staggered to the sliding glass door that opened onto a narrow balcony. She went to the railing and gripped it, impervious to the biting cold of the metal.

Eight people. Dead.

She breathed deeply of the icy air. The vapor of her exhales blended into the fog swirling around her.

Suddenly sensing a presence, she turned her head.

Only a few feet away from her, standing on the neighboring suite’s balcony, was…

Hayes Bannock.

Her heart clutched with terror. And leaped with inexplicable joy.

“Don’t scream.” He spoke in the familiar whisper that always came as somewhat of a surprise. “Don’t do anything until you’ve looked at this.” He held out his hand. In the palm of his glove lay a silver trinket. She recognized it instantly.

“Where did you get that?”

“From underneath you where you supposedly fell.” He gave her a mere few seconds to assimilate that, then, “Are you staying with them? Or coming with me?”