Criminal Behaviour

They’d sat on plastic chairs, eyeing each other warily through the partition until Finch had picked up the phone. A few minutes of awkward conversation had ensued while Ethan tried to get a feel for his subject. Finch had struck him as quiet and reflective, a man who’d long ago made peace with his deeds and circumstances. His placid demeanor never altered until Ethan had broached the topic of Finch’s mother. Then the blue eyes seemed to intensify behind the glasses and the corner of Finch’s mouth twitched, as if he were suppressing a painful memory.

“Your mother never married, did she?” Ethan had spoken in a conversational tone, trying to draw the man out. “That must have been tough. Children born out of wedlock were stigmatized back in your day. You were probably teased in school, maybe even bullied.”

Finch said nothing.

“Your mother worked as a housekeeper, so I imagine money was tight. Barely enough for necessities, let alone extras. You wore hand-me-down clothing from the people whose houses she cleaned, and as much as you enjoyed having those nice things, you resented where they came from, didn’t you? You were hostile to the hand that fed you.”

Finch watched him avidly through the partition.

Ethan glanced down at his notes even though he had everything memorized. “Despite your disadvantages, you were a good student. Always the brightest in your class, but your financial situation limited your prospects. A full-ride scholarship must have been the answer to all your prayers. A dream come true. You studied horticulture at a state school, right? You wanted to be a landscape architect. Then your mother became ill during your junior year, and you were forced to drop out of college to take care of her. That’s when you got your first job as a gardener. You had to go back, hat in hand, to the people who had given you their throwaway clothing.”

Finch had stared at him for the longest moment before answering. “Is this your way of establishing rapport, Special Agent Barrow? Or do you wish to impress me with the amount of homework you’ve done?”

“How’s this for homework? You have a daughter out there somewhere. No one knows her name or where she’s been since your incarceration. Some believe her mother was your first victim. Did she fit your criteria? A single mother without morals. A loose woman who valued her freedom more than her child. What happened? Did she refuse to marry you? Is that what set you off?”

Finch’s expression never changed, but something dark glinted at the back of his eyes. “After all these years and all the files you people have amassed—mountains, I’m told—no one has ever gotten it right. Not even the esteemed James Merrick.”

“Is that a denial?”

Finch studied his hand for a moment. “Merrick’s profile was flawed from the start. It was written from the cynical presumption that I harbored ill will toward my own mother. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was a happy child. We didn’t have money, but I never wanted for affection. I wasn’t starved for attention. Your psychological evaluations to the contrary, I wasn’t bitter then about my lot in life and I’m not bitter now. That must surprise you. You’re thinking, if he’s really innocent, how can he be so accepting of such a cruel injustice?”

“How do you accept it? If you really are innocent, that is.”

A smile flickered for the first time. “I could never give an explanation that would satisfy someone like you. Acceptance isn’t in your nature. A man like you will always be at war with his emotions. Tormented by what he can’t know. Unable to make peace with his past.”

Damn if the observation hadn’t been insightful and perhaps even prophetic.

After Ethan had left Orson Lee Finch, he’d driven to the state psychiatric hospital. He was no stranger to the layout of the parking area or the maze of hallways and wards. He’d visited regularly for years and was afforded certain privileges because of his position and background. He had signed in and then been escorted up to the fourth floor, where an orderly had unlocked a small room and waved Ethan inside.

James Merrick had been at the window, gazing out over the shady grounds. He hadn’t turned when Ethan entered, nor had he acknowledged Ethan’s presence in any way. That wasn’t unusual. He never gave any indication of recognizing Ethan from one visit to the next. Ethan had learned to ignore the long silences and unblinking stares, as well as the disturbing sounds that came from deep within the facility. He focused his attention instead on the patient’s journals, poring over pages and pages of painstakingly scribbled gibberish in the hope of finding the one clue that would break everything open.

He had that clue now. The last piece of the puzzle was finally within his grasp.

“I came here to tell you that new evidence has turned up in your case,” he’d said to Merrick.

The man had given no indication of comprehension, but Ethan hadn’t let the prolonged silence discourage him.

“I won’t go into the details yet. It’s early stages of the investigation. But I wanted you to know that I’m still out there looking for the truth. I never believed you were guilty. Not once in all these years.” Ethan walked over to the window and placed his hand briefly on the man’s frail arm. “Do you remember me?” he murmured. “I’m Ethan.”

Nothing so much as a blink.

“I work for the FBI just as you did. I even do support investigations for the BAU. Back in your day, it was called the Behavioral Science Unit.”

Still no response.

“My stepfather is Richard Barrow. You knew him once. I took his name when he married my mother, but he’s not my dad. My real name is Merrick. Ethan Merrick. I’m your son.”

Chapter Two

The muted thrum of a car engine drew Ethan’s attention, pulling him out of that twelve-by-twelve room, away from the power of his father’s vacant stare and back to his roadside vigil in front of the Gainey house.

He turned his head toward the sound, noting the presence of a black Dodge Charger—the preferred FBI pursuit vehicle—at the end of the street. The car did not approach, nor did the driver pull to the curb to accommodate oncoming traffic. The Charger sat idling in the middle of the road as if daring Ethan to notice.

Any hope he’d had of flying under the radar vanished. He’d seen that same vehicle or one like it parked outside his hotel that morning. Ethan had gone about his business, taking tortuous routes as he ran aimless errands, and eventually he’d lost the tail in downtown traffic. He had no doubt, though, that whoever was keeping tabs on him had already heard about his trip to Columbia and his visit that morning to the Charleston Police Department. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that they’d found him again so quickly—they were pros, after all—but it had only been by sheer luck that he’d overheard mention of Adaline Kinsella’s name and her whereabouts. He had no idea why the agents had thought to look for him here unless they’d known all along he would come to Addie.

He glanced around, once again scoping out his surroundings. He needed an exit strategy in case the occupants of the Charger got too curious. The house sat at the end of a dead-end street, nearly hidden by a canopy of live oaks and palm trees. The nearest neighbor was a block away, but Ethan was hardly alone. While he stood contemplating his options, the voices behind the fence grew louder, and through one of the grimy sidelights, he caught the silhouette of a woman.

Was it Addie?

Had she spotted him?

Probably not, he decided. If she had an inkling of his presence, she would have already come outside to give him a piece of her mind. Not that he could blame her. He deserved every insult and condemnation she could heap upon him. Still, he’d come here with his hat in hand, offering her the chance to help solve the case of a lifetime.

He squinted down the end of the road, trying to determine if the car had crept a little closer. Even from a distance, he could tell the windows were tinted and the license plate obscured. He wondered briefly if a tracker had been planted on his vehicle. Maybe that was how they’d found him again so quickly. More likely they’d used his phone’s GPS. Electronic surveillance usually meant clout and someone with serious intent.

The surveillance had annoyed him earlier, but now he was just plain pissed. He resented having his every move scrutinized and disseminated. He’d used personal days to come to Charleston on his own dime, relying on his own resources. As far as he was concerned, this was not the FBI’s business, but of course, his section chief would likely see things differently.

So be it. Might as well give them enough rope.

He climbed into his rental and made a U-turn in the street, picking up speed as he headed toward the Charger. The acceleration thrilled him. He pushed the pedal to the floor, and the powerful V-8 roared. The scenery blurred in the side windows as the vehicle shot forward.

For a moment, he wondered if the driver meant to call his bluff. The vehicle remained immobile for so long that a crash seemed imminent. Ethan braced himself and was just about to swerve when the car reversed down the street and backed around the corner in one smooth move. Then the driver shifted and the Charger catapulted through the intersection.

Ethan made the turn without slowing. He gripped the wheel as the SUV fishtailed and the tires spun on the graveled shoulder. Up ahead, the Charger careened around another corner and blasted through a stop sign, narrowly missing a woman and two small boys as they stepped off the curb. The mother had plenty of time to pull the children to safety on the sidewalk, but she froze. Ethan could have sworn he saw her lips move in prayer a split second before he hit the brakes.

The tires squealed in protest as the rubber gripped the pavement and the powerful vehicle skidded to a stop.

He hopped out of the SUV and called to the woman, “Are you okay?”

She spoke in a heavy accent. “Are you crazy? You could have killed us!”

She kept screaming at him, gesturing wildly with her arms as the boys clung to her legs. Ethan stood silently by and took it. She had every right to call him out. What had he been thinking, engaging in a high-speed chase?

He scanned the neighborhood from his periphery. Many of the houses along the street were in various stages of disrepair, but he could see signs of gentrification creeping in. He wondered what the upwardly mobile millennials would think of their fixer-upper investments when they learned about the house at the end of the dead-end street.

Apologizing profusely, he got back in his vehicle. He waited until the woman was safely across the street with the children and then he circled the block and headed back to the abandoned house, parking in the very spot he had vacated only a few minutes earlier. The incident left him shaken. He’d been able to stop in plenty of time, but that was beside the point. What if his brakes had failed? What if he’d lost control of the wheel? He’d behaved recklessly, and that wasn’t like him. Not anymore. Maybe he’d played the game for too long, kept his head down and his nose clean for so long that his dangerous impulses were rebelling. Ever since he’d received the first email from a woman named Naomi Quinlan, his life had been one risky decision after another.

He locked the vehicle and walked through the tall weeds in the front yard, pausing at the bottom of the steps to scan the ramshackle facade. He could no longer see anyone inside. Whoever he’d glimpsed earlier had moved into another part of the house or perhaps had left the premises altogether. He hoped that wasn’t the case. Far better that he approach Addie on neutral ground than to show up unexpectedly at her house.

He lifted the crime-scene tape over his head and opened the front door. Before he could step into the foyer, a male voice halted him. “Stop right there. In case you can’t read that yellow tape, this is a crime scene. You need to get back behind the barricade and stay there.”

Ethan took out his wallet and showed the man his credentials. “My name is Ethan Barrow. I’m with the FBI.”

The man glanced at the badge and scowled. “No one said anything about federal involvement.”

Ethan returned the wallet to his pocket and removed his sunglasses. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Detective Matthew Lepear, Charleston PD.” He glanced behind him into the gutted room. “Delmar Gainey’s victims have been dead for over two decades, Agent Barrow. The man himself died five years ago. Why would the feds be interested in this case?”

“I’m not interested in your case, Detective. I’m looking for Adaline Kinsella.”

“What’s your interest in Detective Kinsella, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The slight proprietorial edge in the man’s voice caught Ethan’s attention. He gave him a sharper scrutiny. “I’d rather discuss my business with her.”

“Detective Kinsella is on vacation this week.”

Ethan turned to glance out one of the sidelights before resettling his gaze on the detective. “Isn’t that her silver SUV at the curb?”

The man shrugged. “New cars all look alike.”

Ethan folded his sunglasses carefully and tucked them into his inner jacket pocket. “Detective Kinsella is your partner, isn’t she?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem overly protective. I can appreciate your concern, but I’m not sure she would.”

Something flashed in Lepear’s eyes, a fleeting acknowledgment that Ethan had hit a little too close to the truth. “You could be right. Addie’s got a mind of her own, that’s for damn sure. The one thing I do know about her is this—she won’t be happy to see you.”

Ethan tamped down his annoyance. “You know her well enough to make that assessment?”

“We go back a long way. Ten years, to be precise. She’s not just my partner. She’s also a friend. And you’re the SOB who almost ended her career.”

Ethan was jolted by an uncomfortable truth. Lepear knew who he was.

Anger mingled with remorse. “I never meant to cause her trouble.”

“People like you never do. You just tell yourself the end justifies the means.”

Ethan waited a beat before he continued. He didn’t want to lose his temper. Lepear was defending his partner and friend. Ethan would do the same if the positions were reversed, but it wasn’t like he’d walked away from the relationship unscathed. It wasn’t like he’d gone back to Virginia and forgotten all about Adaline Kinsella. He’d spent many a sleepless night staring up at the ceiling, wanting to call just to hear her voice but knowing she would never pick up.

“I’m not looking for trouble now,” he said. “I just want to talk to her.”

Lepear gave him a derisive look before he finally acquiesced. “She’s out back. You can go through that door.” He nodded toward the crumbling archway. “But if I were you, I’d watch my step. I mean, I’d really watch my step, Agent Barrow.”

Their gazes held for a moment longer before Ethan nodded. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

* * *

ADDIE STOOD ON the back porch, staring at the mounds of dirt and empty graves where the remains had been excavated and removed. A broken wheelchair had been pushed up under the porch railing, and she couldn’t help but imagine Delmar Gainey sitting there alone in the dark, admiring his gruesome garden by moonlight. Another ramp had been built beside the back steps, and if Addie closed her eyes, she could see him out there among the graves, enjoying the mingled scents of jasmine and death wafting on the afternoon breeze.

She felt light-headed from the heat and from old memories, and she curled her fingers around the wood rail, clinging for a moment while she tried to beat back her emotions. She was no stranger to death. She’d lost her mother to a brutal killer and her grandmother to the gentler reaper of natural causes. As a cop, Addie had seen all manner of death and violence, but those empty graves reminded her of the thin veneer of humanity that could too easily be peeled away.

A sound brought her around with a start, and she felt a shudder go through her as her gaze connected with the man in the doorway. Tall and fit, he stood ramrod straight in his dark suit and tie, hardly more than a silhouette against the dim backdrop of the house.

“Ethan?” Even as she spoke his name, her chin came up in defiance. Before she could demand to know the purpose of his presence, she heard a crack, followed by a splintering sound as the rotting floorboards gave way beneath her feet. Her arms flailed wildly as she tried to catch her balance, but the wood disintegrated and she crashed through the porch.

She saw Ethan lunge for her, and then she saw nothing but blackness as she found herself in a free fall.

Chapter Three

Addie reached out instinctively, grasping, grasping until she made contact with a rope. She grabbed on with both hands, halting her fall for only an instant before she dropped to the bottom. But that split second allowed her to brace for impact. She tucked and rolled.

Hot pain shot across her left shoulder as she lay still for a moment. Then she gingerly moved her arms and legs. No broken bones. She pushed herself off the floor and got to her feet. No cuts or other wounds that she could determine, but she was in complete darkness save for a thin tunnel of illumination that shone down through the fractured boards. The light seemed to quiver as if it had a life of its own. The sensation was eerie and disorienting. Addie reached out with one hand and made contact with the wall as she tilted her head to that shimmering light.

“Addie?”

Her eyes fluttered closed before she braced herself yet again. That voice. How many times had she dreamed of it in her ear, imagined his husky whisper in the dark? She shivered now as her name echoed off the walls like a taunt.

“Adaline, can you hear me?”

She peered up into the freaky light. “I can hear you.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. No broken bones or cuts. Where am I?”

“I think you’ve fallen into an old well or cistern. The porch must have been built over it. Are you in water?”

She shivered again at the echo-like quality of his voice. “No, but the walls are damp. And it smells pretty bad down here. I wonder how far I fell. It looks a long way up there.”

“Hard to say. Fifteen, twenty feet maybe. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“I grabbed on to a rope. Do you see it?”

“It looks badly frayed. I’m not sure it’s strong enough to haul you up.”

“Go find Matt. Matt Lepear. He’s my partner. He drove his truck out here today. He usually keeps a chain in the back for when he goes off-roading. Someone always gets stuck.”

“I’ll find him and we’ll get you out of there. Just hang tight until I get back.”

“Ethan?”

His face appeared back over the opening.

“Someone left a flashlight on the porch railing. I saw it a minute ago. Can you toss it down to me? It’s pitch-black and I think I hear rats.”

“I see it. I’ll tie it off and lower it down. Stand back in case the rope breaks.”

She stepped out of the light, allowing the darkness to swallow her. Furtive claws scratched nearby, and she could have sworn something scurried across her feet, but she hoped the sensation wasn’t real. She hoped her imagination was getting the better of her because the notion of rats closing in on her—

Ethan cut into her thoughts. “I’m lowering the light down now.”

He turned on the bulb so that Addie could track the beam. As the rope spun, the light bounced off the walls, casting giant shadows down into the well. Addie reached eagerly for the flashlight, slipping it free of the knot and then wrapping her fingers tightly around the thick rubber housing.

“I’ve got it,” she said. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back.”

“Ethan?”

“Yes?”

She ran the light up and down the walls and then over the floor, exploring debris that had been abandoned for decades.

“What is it?” he called down to her.

“There’s a lot of trash in here.” Her voice quivered in spite of her best efforts. “Old blankets. Broken dishes. I think this is where he kept them.”

Ethan said something, but she didn’t hear his response. She was too caught up in the horror of that place. Too distracted by the image of that wheelchair shoved up under the porch railing. How many times had Gainey rolled across the floorboards, aroused by his memories as he reveled in his secrets?

Addie angled the beam along the crevice where floor met wall. She imagined someone cowering there, but the beady eyes that glinted back at her weren’t human.

Repelled by the light, the rat scuttled back to its hidey-hole, leaving Addie alone with the echo of long-dead screams.

* * *

ADDIE STOOD WITH her face to the sun, basking in the light as she brushed dust from her hair. Even covered in dirt and grime, she looked good. Ethan was glad for his sunglasses so he could pretend not to stare.

He and some of the officers had easily hauled her up from the well, and she seemed no worse for the wear. But she hadn’t lingered, even when her partner had insisted on going down to have a look for himself. Addie had watched for a moment and then, with a shudder, turned and disappeared. Ethan had followed her out into the sun. After the creepy confines of that house, he welcomed the heat, even the trickle of sweat he could feel between his shoulder blades.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I just needed some air. Being down in that well and knowing what he used it for...knowing what he did to all those people...it got to me for a minute.”

Ethan nodded. “It gets to all of us now and then, but that’s a good thing. You don’t ever want to feel numb to what one human being can do to another. You never want to lose your ability to be shocked.”

If she thought that sentiment strange coming from him—the son of a profiler who had gone to the dark side—she didn’t say so. “You see this sort of thing more than I do. How do you cope?”

“I’d be lying if I said I leave it at the office. But I try to find productive ways to fill up my spare time. I run. I listen to music and read books. Sometimes I visit museums and art galleries just to remind myself that human beings are also capable of creating great beauty.”

“That sounds amazingly well adjusted. Right now, I just want a good, stiff drink.” She wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans as if trying to cleanse herself of the images.

Ethan found himself checking out her fingers to make sure she hadn’t gotten married or engaged since last he’d heard. No diamonds that he could discern, but the sun bouncing off the detective shield she’d clipped to her waist was blinding.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “For what?”

He nodded toward her badge. “You made detective in record time, I see.”

Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t set any records. And there were plenty of times when I never thought I’d make it. This shield didn’t just fall into my lap. I worked hard for it.”

He’d obviously hit a nerve. Like him, she’d probably battled whispers of nepotism for most of her career. “I never thought otherwise,” he said. “My congratulations were sincere.”

“Thank you.” She glanced away for a moment as if trying to puzzle something out. Her gaze came back to him reluctantly. “You seem different.”

“Because I’m happy for your success?”

A frown flitted across her brow. “No. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“It’s been ten years. I expect we’re both different people.”

“Agreed. At the very least, I like to think I’m a lot less gullible than I used to be.”

Their gazes met, clashed again, but behind the glimmer of hostility, Ethan felt a connection, no matter how fleeting. Or maybe the link was nothing more than wishful thinking, but he found himself drifting back, imagining her smile and the spill of blond hair over her shoulders as she stared down at him through hooded eyes. Adaline Kinsella at twenty-two had been something. At thirty-two... Ethan didn’t dare let himself go there.