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“You two want to tell me what’s going on?” Hank asked.
Alex shook her head. “Any luck tracking the kids in the photos?”
“No, and there won’t be. Most of those kids are in the system and untraceable. The sex-trafficking world is sad, but it’s where ninety-nine percent of that stuff comes from. It won’t lead anywhere, but my guys’ll chase it anyway. They’ll put a search through the Center for Missing and Exploited Children, but they won’t get any hits.”
Hank continued his suspicious inspection of Alex’s reaction before taking a sip of whiskey.
“So that’s about all I’ve got for you guys. The apartment was clean. No useful prints. A bunch of Zell’s and a few strays, but none that matched anyone in our database.”
Buck looked over and winked at her. Alex should have sunk her shoulders a bit, relieved to hear that she hadn’t left any prints behind, but the tension stayed in her body. The photos left by Byron Zell’s body had hit too close to home.
“You’re freaking me out, kid,” Hank said. “You sure you don’t want a real drink? Something with some punch behind it?”
Alex blinked, pulling herself back from the hypothetical that ran through her mind—the idea that Byron Zell’s crime scene was chillingly similar to her family’s.
“She’s just freaked out by the situation,” Buck said. “We were investigating this guy, and now he’s dead. A dead pedophile is not a bad thing, it’s just the connection to Lancaster and Jordan that had us curious. Keep us updated if something comes up or you get any leads, will you? I know Garrett Lancaster will be interested, too.”
“You bet,” Hank said. “Now don’t either of you forget to pick up the phone next time I call asking for a favor.”
“Will do,” Buck said.
Alex nodded and offered a weak smile as Buck dropped money onto the bar.
“I’m going to get Alex home. Thanks for the information, Hank.”
Alex turned to leave, her mind pulling her back to the night her family was killed. It was a place she had managed well over the last ten years, allowing the memories into her consciousness only when she wanted them there. But as Buck walked her out of the bar she was deluged with uncontrolled thoughts and images from that night, and a wild notion that she was closer to the truth than she understood.
CHAPTER 46
Washington, D.C. Saturday, April 29, 2023 9:50 a.m.
ANNETTE PACKARD SAT AT THE END OF THE BAR AT BENJAMIN’S TAVERN. Although she no longer frequented the place, she knew it existed. The place was not just for cops. Benjamin’s was popular with field agents, and Annette had years ago been a regular at the tavern. It had been her attempt to fit in before she realized that chasing bad guys for the FBI was not her calling, and that she was better suited digging through politicians’ lives, although at times the two felt like one and the same.
She waited a couple of minutes after she saw the woman leave before she raised her hand and spoke.
“Hank Donovan?”
She saw her old friend turn his head at the sound of his name. She slid off her stool and walked over, offering a huge smile as if the encounter were due to chance and not dumb luck that the woman Annette had been following since the previous morning had ended up sitting at a bar next to an old cop friend of hers.
“Annette? Get out of here!” Hank said, standing to embrace her in a bear hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off to greener pastures.”
“No, I’ve been back in DC for a few years. I just travel all the time, so it feels like I’m never here.”
Annette and Hank had been Washington, D.C. beat cops a lifetime ago.
“What have you been up to all these years?” Annette asked. “You’re in a suit and tie. Don’t tell me they made you detective.”
Hank smiled. “Head of homicide.”
“Wow, Hank. Well done.”
“Thanks. And you? You’re still with the bureau?”
“Twenty years this June.”
“A lifer, huh?”
Annette smiled. “Feels that way.”
