Page 82 of The Devoted Game

“Son of a bitch.” He passed the letters to Grace, his gaze colliding with hers. “It’s Fincher.” That one letter he’d read from the man years ago was why the emails had felt familiar to him. The formal prose, the wide margins and excessive spacing. And damn, the man had even signed the last twoMartin Fincher, your devoted fan. Two of the letters had been sent after Fincher’s son had been murdered. In both, he had lamented that he was certain Ryan could have saved his son ... but the special agent in charge refused Fincher’s request for Ryan. Randall Worth had been the special agent in charge.

“Fincher probably blames Worth for the loss of his son,” Grace said as she read the final letter Ryan passed to her. “Oh my God ... this guy has been obsessed with you for years.” Her gaze collided with Ryan’s. “And you were right ... he does have a story to tell.”

Davis rushed back into the room. “Got a call from Arnold as I was heading out. He says McBride needs to see what he’s found.”

“At Martin Fincher’s residence.” Ryan guessed.

“You got it,” Davis confirmed. “He’s already ordered a forensics unit.”

“Pratt, you keep working on this email and any connections you can come up with,” Pierce said. “Grace, McBride, we’ll follow Davis.”

Ryan tossed the letters onto the conference table. If they were damned lucky, there would be some kind of clues at Fincher’s house about where this latest challenge was going down.

Otherwise, Agent Worth was screwed.

And Ryan would fail ... again.

4hours remaining. . .

Seven Oaks Drive, Vestavia Hills, 4:00 a.m.

The forensics van waited at the curb. Ryan, Grace, and Pierce arrived, pulling in behind it.

Agent Arnold stood at the door of Martin Fincher’s small cottage. “You gotta see this, man,” he said to Ryan. “I didn’t want to let anyone else in until you’d taken a look.”

“Good work, Arnold,” Ryan confirmed. Any change in the unsub’s environment could alter an investigator’s or profiler’s overall assessment of what they were dealing with.

Once outfitted with gloves and shoe covers, they followed Arnold inside. The house was clean and neat; the decorating and furnishings older, but in immaculate condition. A picture of Fincher, his wife, and his son sat on a table. Fincher wore dark, horn-rimmed glasses just like Horace Jackson said.

“First,” Agent Arnold said, “you need to see his office.” Arnold led the way through the living room and down the narrow hall to thefirst door on the left. The office couldn’t have been more than ten by twelve feet, but every inch of wall space, floor to ceiling, was covered in newspaper clippings. Most were about Ryan and the man’s son.

“Here’s something on Trenton.” Arnold indicated one of the articles. “Katherine Jones.” He pointed to another, then looked at Ryan. “Here’s a full-page spread on Byrne, and the article mentions Worth.”

Grace moved closer and started reading.

“Give me the condensed version,” Ryan said to Arnold. “I’m on a tight schedule here.” The tension was expanding with each passing minute, making it harder and harder to stay calm and focused.

“Six years ago,” Arnold began, “Martin Fincher’s twelve-year-old son went missing. Agent Worth was in charge of the case. Four days later, the boy’s body was found, along with another teenage boy who had gone missing in Jefferson County the week prior. The boys were found at a construction site.”

“AByrneconstruction site,” Ryan offered.

Arnold nodded. “That’s right.”

“How does Katherine Jones fit into this?” Grace asked, pausing from her reading.

“She was the clerk on duty in the electronics department at Walmart the evening the Fincher boy went missing,” Arnold explained. “Jones had some sort of health event—she fainted, something like that—and while she was unconscious, the abduction happened.”

Grace’s gaze met Ryan’s. “She didn’t notice the abduction ... making her guilty in Fincher’s eyes.Oblivious.”

Ryan figured the same. “What about Trenton?” There were several headlines about him plastered on the wall.

“Oh yeah,” Arnold said, “Pratt called while you were en route. Couldn’t get through on your cell,” he said to Grace. “He spoke with Trenton’s office manager, who checked the schedule. She didn’t like it, said she had to pull up a whole different program to do it. Anyway, Trenton turned Mrs. Fincher’s surgery over to one of his colleagues because Tipper Winfrey’s name came up on the list for a heart that same day. The officemanager reminded Pratt that the surgery had taken place two years ago, and that if there was a problem, the doctor’s office never heard about it.”

“State Senator Tipper Winfrey?” Grace asked for clarification.

Arnold gave her an affirming look. “The one and only.”

“Where’s Fincher’s wife?” Ryan understood where this was going.