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“You know what? You’re right. Why don’t I call Metro? They can send a whole team of badges over?—”
“Wait! I-I know it looks bad but it’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?”
“Max has nothing to do with these murders.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“You don’t understand. He’s harmless, but no one’s going to believe that. Max is nonverbal. I know sign language so I’m able to communicate with him. I’m all he has.”
“You’ve already told me his sob story, but that doesn’t give him a free pass. If he’s done nothing wrong, he has nothing to fear.”
“You don’t get it,” she shot back.
“Maybe not, but what I do know is the penalty for harboring a fugitive, and obstruction of justice, both of which you’re in violation of.”
“Jake, I can’t turn him in. He has no one else. And I-I’m in love with him.”
Jake paused, momentarily empathizing with Claire. Love was a powerful motivator. He didn’t want to be a hypocrite. He was guilty of bending the law a time or two for Dana. But ultimately, he had no choice here. Pushing Claire to give Max up was the best move for all of them.
“If you don’t turn him in, he truly will have no one else, because I’ll have no choice but to hand over this evidence,” he said, holding up his cell phone. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll personally escort him into custody and make sure he gets a good lawyer.”
Tears began to stream down Claire’s cheeks as she shook her head back and forth inconsolably. “No. No, I won’t do it.”
“Claire, this isn’t a negotiation. This is an opportunity. Help yourself, help Max, help me. I don’t want to tell Dana you lied.”
70
A dull buzzrustled Dana from her research. Predictably, it took her a moment to draw herself from the pages of ancient history and back to the real world. For an instant, she had a strange flash of déjà vu as she tried to separate the Grim Reaper tale she’d been entwined in with that of the real Reaper terrorizing D.C. presently.
Again, the buzz jostled her awareness, drawing her attention to her phone.
Dana uncovered it from the mountain of paperwork crowding her desk, only to pause when she saw the name glowing on the screen. She answered, hoping her foreboding feelings were misguided.
“We’ve got another one.” Hartwell said, quickly confirming Dana’s fears.
“The Reaper?”
“Looks like it. Scythe found on scene matches the others, down to the inscription.”
“Have you ID’d the victim?”
Hartwell grunted. “What’s left of her.”
“It was a woman?”
“Yeah. Name Kylie Marx mean anything to you?”
Dana's stomach dropped. “Does she have red hair?”
Hartwell paused. “Why?”
Dana squeezed her eyes shut, collecting her thoughts before they dragged her down the dark tunnel she’d been dancing around for days. “She was a patient at Passages.”
Hartwell swore. “Seems our Reaper’s got a particular pallet.” He sighed deeply, making Dana wonder when he last slept. “I’ll pass it up the pole to DOJ or HSI or whoever the hell is running this thing now.”
“Hartwell, this isn’t political. Surely, they’ll see that now.”
