He nodded. “Thank you.”
He smiled a farewell at the agents, then took a seat.
Michael leaned close to faith and spoke softly so Garret didn’t hear them. “Should we talk to him?”
Faith considered a moment, then approached Garret. “Did you know a Gemma Montgomery or a Patrick Jeter?”
He looked at them with a confused frown. “No, I can’t say I do. Are those the victims?”
“Yes. You’re aware of how they died?”
“Ulysses said something about burying them underground? Or locking them in a room somewhere? I don’t know, he was really drunk when he called me.”
Faith nodded. “Well, stick around, Mr. Hagerty. We may have more questions for you.”
They left, and when they were out of earshot, Michael said, "I don't think he's involved. He didn't seem to be hiding anything, and he didn't seem to have any idea what we were talking about beyond Pratt's muddled account. Still worth keeping an eye on him, at least as long as we're keeping an eye on Ulysses. Is he part of that online group that Pratt and the victims were part of?"
“I’ll check.”
A quick check confirmed that Garret Hagerty was not part of the group, nor was he connected to the victims in any way. That didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t the killer, but it left them with no justifiable reason to suspect him beyond his loyalty to Pratt.
“Well, I’m going to get breakfast before we talk to Pratt again,” Michael said. “You want anything?”
“Yeah, can you get me a breakfast burrito from that Mexican place next door?”
“You don’t want to come with me?”
She tried to keep her tone nonchalant. “No, I’m going to do some more digging online.”
Her nonchalance didn’t work. “On this case or the other case?”
She stiffened slightly. “How about I just say no, and we leave it at that? Unless you think this is time to tell the Boss to replace me.”
His shoulders tensed. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said stiffly. “Three red sauce and one green sauce, right?”
“Yes, please,” she replied.
“All right. See you soon.”
He left, and she returned with Turk to the conference room. Her laptop remained where she had left it. The police officers might resent the FBI’s presence, but they weren’t foolish enough to mess with the agents’ belongings.
She looked around to make sure no one was looking in through the windows of the conference room and positioned her laptop so the security camera couldn’t see the screen. It occurred to her that she hadn’t taken those precautions the night before, but old habits died hard, and she made sure that no one at this moment could see what she was doing.
She opened her private email and quelled her excitement when she saw the response from the Boss. She opened the thread but hesitated. She read her own email before reading his response, telling herself it was because she wanted to make sure she didn’t sound too obsessive but knowing that the real reason was fear that she wouldn’t get the response she wanted.
Hey, Boss. I just wanted to see if you have any leads on West. David and Michael’s fiancé are wondering when they can come home or if they should be in protective custody.
That was reasonable. It wasn’t asking for her own benefit. It wasn’t asking to be involved. It was just asking for leads.
She decided to risk looking at his answer.
Bold, you are not to involve yourself in this case. If Mr. Friedman and Ms. West feel that they are in danger, they are welcome to apply for protective custody. I will not be discussing this case or any details associated with it.
For the last time, Bold, back off. You asking me about this case tells me you’re not focused on the case to which you’ve been assigned. If you can’t find it in yourself to think of the people who will die if you don’t do your job right now, let me know, and I’ll send Michael a partner he can trust to put her personal feelings aside to do her job.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, face burning. She closed the laptop, took a deep breath, and exhaled, fighting for calm.
His words mirrored Michael’s. He believed, like her, that she wasn’t focused on this case.
