Page 18 of So Lethal (Faith Bold #22)

When they reached the hotel, Faith decided to look for another interpreter.

Beth still hadn’t gotten back to them, and Faith didn’t want to wait.

Besides, Beth hadn’t asked to be involved in this case.

She might be ignoring their call on purpose, which was fine with Faith.

There were professionals trained to interpret for law enforcement.

“I’m going to call the San Francisco field office and see if they have an ASL interpreter available,” she told Michael. “I don’t think Beth’s—”

Her phone interrupted her. She frowned when she saw the number. “Shit. It’s Tabitha.”

Michael grimaced. “Oy. Good luck.”

She answered the phone, and before she could say anything, her boss shouted, "What the hell is going on, Faith?"

Faith blinked. “Um… We’re working the case?”

“Are you talking to the news while working the case?”

“No.”

“Well, someone is. Someone told the news that there’s a serial killer on the loose in the bay, and they just told them that Faith Bold and Michael Prince are the ones investigating. Now your name’s right at the top of every news headline again.”

Faith frowned. “I can see how that’s frustrating, ma’am, but that’s bound to happen. We’re working with local law enforcement and interviewing people of interest. The media is eventually going to figure out who’s working the case.”

Tabitha sighed. “I know, but the fact that it’s you makes it a news story.

Christ, why the hell…” She took a deep breath, and to her credit, she tried to use a more professional tone when she spoke again.

“I’m assigning a new investigator to the case, or rather, I’m going to call San Francisco and have them assign one.

I really don’t know why we ship our investigators across the country when there are perfectly good field offices in every major city in the United States. ”

Faith’s frown deepened. “We send people who are best suited for each investigation. I’m the most experienced agent in cases like these. That’s why I get sent instead of local agents.”

“I’m not disparaging your skillset, agent, but we’ve talked about the danger that your celebrity status poses to the FBI. I can’t have this kind of media exposure.”

Faith fought to keep her voice even. “With all due respect, ma’am, you already have it. If you remove me from this case, the news media is going to wonder why. And if there are any more victims, they’re going to decide that it was your interference that led to that.”

“Don’t threaten me, Special Agent!”

“I’m not threatening you,” Faith insisted. “I’m making you aware of the side effects of a decision to remove me from a case, especially one you assigned me to. You did assign me to this case, right?”

Tabitha sighed. “Yes. I thought it would take you out of the spotlight since you and your partner decided to publicize the Messenger Killer and turn it into another goddamned media circus. God, what happened to us being detectives? What happened to undercover work? When did we go Hollywood?”

Faith listened to the ASAC rant, sharing a dry look with Michael.

Tabitha had legitimate reasons to be concerned, but she catastrophized even the slightest attention from the media.

It was unavoidable in a day and age when any teenager with a cell phone could broadcast anything they wanted to the world via the internet.

“Shit. All right, you’re still on the case. But for the love of God, Bold, please try to act like an investigator and not a supermodel.”

Faith’s fingers tightened around the phone. “I will continue to conduct myself with professionalism and integrity as an FBI agent, just as I always do, ma’am.”

Tabitha sighed again, then hung up without another word.

Faith set the phone down and sighed. “How did she get her job?”

“Technically speaking, she still doesn’t have it. She’s interim.”

“It’s been months. When are we getting someone else?”

“The Bureau has a shortage of agents with supervisory experience who don’t very quickly despise leadership with every fiber of their being. And the field office is trucking along just fine. It’s probably not high on Smythe’s radar.”

Faith glared at him. “Word of advice, Michael. When Ellie complains about something to you, don’t explain to her why the things that irritate her actually make sense.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Fair enough. But since you’re my partner, not my wife, my advice to you is to learn to let the idiocy of the brass roll off your back. We were spoiled with Grant. Now we’re dealing with a perfectly normal moronic ASAC. It happens.”

"How would you know? You never had anyone but the Boss," she replied, using Grant Monroe's nickname.

“I talk to other people,” he quipped. “It’s a skill you should learn someday.”

She gave him the finger and slumped in her chair. “Beth’s probably the one who called the news.”

“Probably,” Michael agreed. “Should we scold her?”

Faith shook her head. “No, there’s no point. Like I told Tabitha, the media was going to find out about this sooner or later. We’re not going to use her as an interpreter, though, so we need to find someone else.”

“Are you still planning to call the San Francisco Field Office?”

“Yeah, I’ll give them a call. Can you feed Turk? He’s giving me puppy eyes again.”

“That’s not just his face?”

“His food is on the bottom shelf of the mini fridge.”

“I know where it is, Grumpy,” Michael said, leading an excited Turk to his soon-to-be-filled bowl. “Call Frisco.”

Faith did just that, only to learn that the Field Office's only ASL interpreter was on vacation for the next six days.

She called Ferris and learned that San Jose PD didn't even have an ASL interpreter.

"We usually hire out for that," he told her.

"I'll text you the number of the agency we use. They're very good."

“I’ll take it, thank you. While I have you on the phone, is there any news on Marcus Wolfe?”

“Nope. He’s still in his house. Neighbor keeps poking his head out the window to see if anything’s going on, but that’s about it.”

Faith nodded. “All right. Keep that unit there as long as you can. If nothing else, it might spook him into staying put and give us some time.”

“Try not to take too much time,” Ferris replied. “We don’t really have a good reason to be there. If someone complains—Marcus included—we might have to vacate.”

Faith sighed irritably. “Well, if anyone in the damned Bay Area wants to translate American Sign Language for me, I’ll be there this afternoon.”

“You got it. Call that place I forwarded to you. They’re good.”

“I’ll do that.”

He hung up, and Faith rubbed her temples for a moment before calling the number.

She had never been good at dealing with these little inconveniences in the middle of a case, and this was the second time she and Michael had a suspect but couldn’t manage to have a productive conversation with him.

Her tolerance for incidental delays was very low right now.

She dialed the number and got a very pleasant woman named Darla who informed her that they could have an interpreter to her within an hour. That did wonders for Faith’s attitude.

“That would be great, thank you. We’re at the Westin South Bay, room eleven-thirty-seven.”

“I’ll have Rebecca meet you there. Do you have an email address I can send her profile to?”

Faith’s brow furrowed. “Her profile?”

“Yes. We send profiles of all of our interpreters to our clients so you know who you’re working with.

It’s an extra layer of security, and we like our clients to see the human side of the work we do.

Deaf and hearing-impaired people are one of the most underrepresented groups in the United States.

This is one of the little ways we hope to change that. ”

“You’re telling me,” Faith said.

She gave Darla her email, thanked her again, then hung up.

A moment later, she got the email. Rebecca Thorne, thirty-four.

She had been with the interpreter service for two years and had “spoken” American Sign Language for seven.

Among her previous employment was a four-year stint at a deaf school in San Leandro, a middle-class suburb in the East Bay a few miles south of Oakland.

Faith noted that she also worked as a volunteer interpreter for the South Bay Community Center. She frowned and noted the dates. She’d started volunteering three months ago, right when Sarah Martinez’s support group started.

That probably meant nothing, but it sent Faith down a rabbit trail. She pulled up the community center website and searched for events tailored to the hearing-impaired.

The very first event was a career exhibition that had taken place two weeks after Rebecca started her employment.

It featured different deaf people in the Bay Area who enjoyed successful careers.

Deaf students could visit with them and learn all of the wonderful career opportunities available for the hearing-impaired.

Among those careers were graphic design—hosted by Monica Smith—and accounting—hosted by James Porter.

A kernel of suspicion sprouted in Faith’s mind. “Michael, can you call Beth again, please?”

Michael frowned. “I thought she was out.”

“She is, but I want to ask her a question.”

“Sure.” As he dialed the number, he asked, “What about?’

“It looks like Rebecca Thorne had contact with Monica Smith and James Porter.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. She hosted a career day for the hearing-impaired at the South Bay Community Center. I guess she volunteers there. I just want to see if maybe she had contact with Sarah Martinez as well.”

Michael lifted a finger. “Yes, hello, Beth. I’m going to put you on speaker. Faith has a question for you.”

“Hello?” Beth’s nervous voice wavered from the phone.

“Hello, Beth,” Faith said.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” Beth said weakly. “I know you told me not to tell anyone, but I thought that people should know, and—”

“I’m not calling about your talking to the media,” Faith interrupted.

“You absolutely shouldn’t have done that, but I shouldn’t have told you anything about the case in the first place.

I’m calling because I was wondering if you had the name of the guest moderator for your week three support group session. ”

“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “Oh, sure. I can get that for you. One moment.”

Faith heard the sound of rummaging. A few seconds later, Beth said, “I have it here. The guest moderator’s name was Rebecca Thorne.”

Faith’s heart leaped. She kept her voice calm as she replied, “Thank you. That’s all I needed. Try to stay away from the media, okay?”

“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry if I caused you any trouble.”

“Take care.”

She hung up and turned to Michael. “Well, look at that. I guess we have a new suspect.”

A better suspect, too. Marcus was connected only to Sarah so far. Rebecca Thorne was now connected to all three of their victims.

There was a knock on their hotel room door. Faith looked through the peephole and saw a woman outside. Her hands were in plain view, and Faith didn’t see any sign of a weapon, so she opened.

The woman at the door was tall, about five-eleven, and of sturdy build without being fat. She wore a knee-length skirt and a long-sleeves suit jacket, but if her toned calves were any indication, she was in great shape.

Killing shape.

She smiled, revealing twin rows of perfect white teeth set under emerald-green eyes and framed by wavy reddish-brown hair. “Good afternoon! I’m Rebecca Thorne.”

Faith stepped aside. “Come on in, Miss Thorne.”

Rebecca stepped inside, her heels clacking softly. Faith closed the door and said, “Why don’t you have a seat, Miss Thorne? We need to talk.”