The Stranger You Seek - By Amanda Kyle Williams Page 0,71
personal to identify at this point.”
Rauser said, “Our tech guy ran down the address of the computer where the email was generated. An Internet café with a stationary computer in Midtown. No cameras. We’ll have surveillance there by the end of the day.”
Dobbs sank back comfortably into the puffy chaise. “Yes, well,” he muttered, and didn’t finish his sentence.
Rauser pulled his ringing phone from his pocket, answered, and left Dobbs and me alone while he took his call.
Dobbs tucked his hands behind his head. “Well done, Dr. Street.” He smiled at me. “You’ve worked hard on this and it shows. I couldn’t have painted a better picture of our unsub myself.”
“I had some time on my hands in the hospital.”
“How are you feeling, by the way?”
“I’m fine,” I answered. His concern made me uneasy.
“I am sorry, Keye, about all that happened between us at BAU.”
I was silent. I didn’t believe he felt remorse and I certainly was not ready to let him off the hook. I’d had some problems my last few months at the Bureau. I was struggling. I was under review. Jacob Dobbs had written quite a scathing report about me in which he recommended I be dismissed. If I’d slept with him, he would have recommended a paid furlough rather than dismissal. He had been quite clear and unapologetic about that. I had needed rehab, a hand up, not a kick in the head. He had made my time there nearly unbearable with his constant comments and advances, and then he had turned his back on me completely.
Rauser rejoined us. “We got the restaurant where Brooks ate the night he was killed. A waitress recognized his photo. She seated him and took a wine order because the shift was just changing and the waiter wasn’t on yet. She said the reservation was for two, in the name of John Smith. Original, huh? Said Brooks drove her nuts picking out the right wine like someone on a date. Waiter showed, so she left. Never saw his dinner partner. We have the waiter’s name and address. Balaki and Williams are on the way there now. We weren’t able to locate a credit card receipt. Brooks was paying cash for everything—dinner, drinks, the hotel. Married, obviously didn’t want a paper trail.”
“Anything from the courthouse?” I asked.
“Our people are still going over the surveillance tapes. Brooks is the only vic to show up on the courthouse tapes, but we’ve only gone back sixty days so far. Brooks was in the courthouse almost every day. Unfortunately, there’s no surveillance on the elevators themselves, but all the elevator lobbies are crawling with cameras. We’re running checks on any nonemployee who appears more than twice. It’s going to take time to look at it all.”
The door opened. “Well, that was totally weird,” Neil said, and walked past us into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, then looked at Rauser. “I had to take Charlie home.” If he wondered what I’d told Rauser about Charlie’s attack, his face didn’t show it. Instead, his eyes settled on Dobbs.
“Neil Donovan, this is Jacob Dobbs,” I said.
“Ah, Dobbs.” Neil clearly recognized the name. “Big man on campus, right? Nice to meet you.” He gave Dobbs a nod and turned back to the refrigerator.
“Speaking of Charlie,” Rauser said. “He’s on courthouse video a lot, must be in there several times a week. Detectives brought it to my attention.”
I went cold. Today Charlie had just reminded me that you never know about someone’s interior life. Charlie had a mean streak. I’d seen that. Charlie the courier. Charlie who was in the Fulton County Courthouse frequently.
Rauser nodded. “Gotta check everyone. No exceptions.”
Neil laughed and popped open a soda can. “Total waste of resources. Come on, Charlie can barely remember to bathe. Anyway, he’s there all the time because the courier company he works for does real estate deed searches and a lot of simple filings for attorneys. I know this because I actually bother to talk to him about his life.” He looked at Rauser. “Keye tell you she put some Bruce Lee on his ass today? I had to pull over and let him throw up on the way home. It was brutal. I’m just sayin’.”
“Who’s Charlie?” Dobbs asked.
“A friend,” I said.
“What happened?” Rauser was frowning, picking up vibes the way he always does.
“He got a little out of line, that’s all,” I told him.
“Out of line how?”
I rolled my eyes. “Settle down there, cowboy. I handled it.”