embezzlement and identity fraud.
It told the story of Craig Hickman, who’d been a college-aged member of Pastor’s L.A. church. He’d become suspicious of Pastor after beginning his own degree in psychology, because Pastor had claimed to have a degree that didn’t exist. Digging deeper, Craig had discovered that church money was missing. That had eventually led to charges being leveled against Pastor.
And then Craig was beaten badly by a group of masked brutes brandishing baseball bats shortly after Pastor disappeared. A few weeks later, Craig’s family home had been burned to the ground. The young man had disappeared soon after.
Some of this information Tom had found online. Some had been in a month-old report prepared by Jeff Bunker, the teenage journalism major who’d brought Cameron Cook to the field office on Wednesday morning. Jeff had started searching for Craig Hickman a month ago.
“I wonder what he’s found,” Tom murmured, and sent Jeff a text.
Any progress on locating Craig Hickman?
The reply was instantaneous. Got sidetracked with finals, but they’re done now. Will get back on it. The woman who mentored Hickman is a kickass reporter with the L.A. Times. Now mentoring me on research. The text was followed by a gif of Kermit the Frog flailing excitedly.
Tom had to smile. He often forgot that Jeff was only sixteen. LMK when you find something.
A thumbs-up emoji from Jeff popped up seconds before Tom’s phone screen was filled with an incoming call.
Raeburn. “This is Hunter.”
“We have a situation. Texting you an address. Meet me there ASAP.”
A text popped up with an address near the airport. “I’m on my way. Can you tell me what it’s about?” Because his mind was spinning images of Mercy dead, of Gideon dead. Of Liza dead.
“SacPD got a call from one of its off-duty cops who was working a private security gig.”
Tom’s gut twisted. “Bowie Security?”
“Yes. I understand you hired them?”
“I did, yes. For Mercy Callahan’s birthday party and out of my own pocket. No connection to the Bureau. What happened?”
Raeburn sighed. “You need to stop paying for things out of your own pocket, Tom.”
Tom blinked, unaccustomed to hearing Raeburn address him by his first name. “That’s fine, sir. Can you tell me what happened first?”
“A truck matching the description of the one on the office building security footage was following Bowie’s SUV. The driver was a Bowie employee. Shotgun was the off-duty cop. When the SUV turned for the airport, the truck followed. SacPD was called. A cruiser tried to stop the truck, but it pushed it off the road and sped away. The two cops pursued. They were instructed to wait for backup, but did not. They were shot in the head. One of the bodies was missing his shirt, vest, and gun belt. The truck is still on the scene, along with the two bodies.”
“Belmont,” Tom said grimly. “And the cruiser? Did he steal it?”
“He did, but didn’t take it far. It was found on the shoulder of Airport Boulevard with the body of a young woman in the back seat.”
“Fucking hell,” Tom whispered.
“You have all the information. I’ll expect you to be at the scene as soon as you can.”
Tom had bounded down the stairs and was already in his own vehicle. “Sir? Mercy’s birthday party tomorrow is at the Sokolovs’ house. If Belmont followed Bowie Security’s SUV, he was in the Sokolovs’ neighborhood.”
“I’ll tell them to cancel the party.”
“I think it’s too late for that. All of the guests were to have arrived by now. They’re all in the Sokolovs’ house. Rafe Sokolov hired the off-duty cops as security. Ten of them. I hired six more of Bowie’s employees. I think we should have Bureau presence on the Sokolovs’ perimeter. If Belmont tries again, we can find him.”
“I’ll arrange it,” Raeburn promised.
Tom started his engine. “Do we have an ID on the victim left in the cruiser?”
“Not yet. Belmont destroyed her phone and she had no other ID. Midtwenties, Caucasian, and dead. That’s all we know.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be there in thirty or less.”
TWENTY-TWO
GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA
SUNDAY, MAY 28, 3:15 P.M.
I’m glad that you came today,” Irina said, sitting on the sofa beside Liza. The Sokolov house was brimming with people, Mercy’s party in full swing. “I feared you would not.”
“I almost didn’t,” Liza admitted, watching Abigail play with Irina’s grandchildren. Liza had retreated to one of the quieter corners. “But I didn’t want to hurt Mercy’s feelings.”
“You have a good heart, lubimaya.” Irina gestured to the children sitting in a circle on