her.
“Give me the other file,” he said when they got to her car and she began to search her bag for her keys. “I’ll hold them while you open the car.”
“This is Dylan’s file,” Andrew said softly after glancing at the label.
“Yes.” She unlocked the door and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat.
“How many times have you read through this?” he asked.
“Lots. You?”
“Lost count.” He looked past her, toward the exit. “Every time I think, I wish I had been there. Maybe I could have done something . . .”
“There was nothing anyone could have done. Aidan was there, and he couldn’t save him.”
Andrew merely shook his head.
“Andrew, when was the last time you looked at this file?”
“A couple of weeks ago,” he admitted. “We were all sitting around at Aidan’s bachelor party, talking about how much we missed Dylan, and I just felt—I don’t know, compelled, somehow, to take another look. I guess I always somehow hope this time it will end differently.” He shrugged. “Of course it never does.”
“Do you happen to remember seeing a report from an agent named Melissa Lowery?”
“Not really. I remember her, though. Didn’t she leave the Bureau a while ago?”
“Not long after Dylan died. She was on the backup team that night.”
“Maybe she had a tough time dealing with it.” He cleared his throat. “She wouldn’t have been the only one.”
“Any idea where she is now?”
“No. I didn’t really know her. I only know her to say hi.”
Annie opened the back door, then turned to take the files from Andrew. She placed the files on the backseat, then got into her car and started the ignition.
“By the way, Andrew, did you know an agent named Lou Raymond?”
“Yeah. What a waste. He died in a car crash out near I-95 a couple of years ago.”
“That’s the one.”
“He was on one of the exit ramps coming off 95 into Maryland. Three or four in the morning. Word was he apparently fell asleep or something and the car hit the guardrail, then went out of control and flipped over. At least, that’s the story that was going around at the time. Best I recall, there were no witnesses.”
“No other cars involved?”
“Not as far as I know. It was called in by a tractor-trailer driver who came across the scene at some point after it happened.” He cocked his head to one side. “Did you know him?”
“No. I just saw his name in the file—Dylan’s file—and was curious, that’s all. The master-file list notes that Raymond had sketched the crime scene, but there’s no sketch in the file.”
“You mean the sketch that shows where everyone was at the time of the shooting?”
“I’m not sure what it was. I haven’t been able to find it. Likewise a report written by Melissa Lowery.”
“I worked maybe two or three cases with Lou when I first got out of training. He always drew things out, made it part of his report. He’d show where everyone was stationed, parked, standing, whatever. Put his whole account in pictures. It was pretty interesting, actually.” Andrew appeared to think for a minute. “I don’t remember ever seeing sketches that Lou drew in this file. Not ever. And like I said, I’ve gone through it a couple of times. Can’t say I remember a report from Lowery, either, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. At some point, they must have fallen out.”
“Must have.” She put the car in gear. “Thanks for carrying the files for me.”
“Anytime.” He stepped back to allow her to back out of the parking space. “Tell what’s-his-name I said hello.”
“It’s Evan,” she told him. “His name is Evan . . .”
“Sorry.” He shrugged, much as his brother had a few days earlier, and waved to her as she drove off.
“So, you think this guy is targeting homeless guys because he thinks he’s on some kind of a mission to clean up the streets?” Evan sat on the sofa, his bare feet propped on the coffee table.
“I think
“Give me the other file,” he said when they got to her car and she began to search her bag for her keys. “I’ll hold them while you open the car.”
“This is Dylan’s file,” Andrew said softly after glancing at the label.
“Yes.” She unlocked the door and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat.
“How many times have you read through this?” he asked.
“Lots. You?”
“Lost count.” He looked past her, toward the exit. “Every time I think, I wish I had been there. Maybe I could have done something . . .”
“There was nothing anyone could have done. Aidan was there, and he couldn’t save him.”
Andrew merely shook his head.
“Andrew, when was the last time you looked at this file?”
“A couple of weeks ago,” he admitted. “We were all sitting around at Aidan’s bachelor party, talking about how much we missed Dylan, and I just felt—I don’t know, compelled, somehow, to take another look. I guess I always somehow hope this time it will end differently.” He shrugged. “Of course it never does.”
“Do you happen to remember seeing a report from an agent named Melissa Lowery?”
“Not really. I remember her, though. Didn’t she leave the Bureau a while ago?”
“Not long after Dylan died. She was on the backup team that night.”
“Maybe she had a tough time dealing with it.” He cleared his throat. “She wouldn’t have been the only one.”
“Any idea where she is now?”
“No. I didn’t really know her. I only know her to say hi.”
Annie opened the back door, then turned to take the files from Andrew. She placed the files on the backseat, then got into her car and started the ignition.
“By the way, Andrew, did you know an agent named Lou Raymond?”
“Yeah. What a waste. He died in a car crash out near I-95 a couple of years ago.”
“That’s the one.”
“He was on one of the exit ramps coming off 95 into Maryland. Three or four in the morning. Word was he apparently fell asleep or something and the car hit the guardrail, then went out of control and flipped over. At least, that’s the story that was going around at the time. Best I recall, there were no witnesses.”
“No other cars involved?”
“Not as far as I know. It was called in by a tractor-trailer driver who came across the scene at some point after it happened.” He cocked his head to one side. “Did you know him?”
“No. I just saw his name in the file—Dylan’s file—and was curious, that’s all. The master-file list notes that Raymond had sketched the crime scene, but there’s no sketch in the file.”
“You mean the sketch that shows where everyone was at the time of the shooting?”
“I’m not sure what it was. I haven’t been able to find it. Likewise a report written by Melissa Lowery.”
“I worked maybe two or three cases with Lou when I first got out of training. He always drew things out, made it part of his report. He’d show where everyone was stationed, parked, standing, whatever. Put his whole account in pictures. It was pretty interesting, actually.” Andrew appeared to think for a minute. “I don’t remember ever seeing sketches that Lou drew in this file. Not ever. And like I said, I’ve gone through it a couple of times. Can’t say I remember a report from Lowery, either, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. At some point, they must have fallen out.”
“Must have.” She put the car in gear. “Thanks for carrying the files for me.”
“Anytime.” He stepped back to allow her to back out of the parking space. “Tell what’s-his-name I said hello.”
“It’s Evan,” she told him. “His name is Evan . . .”
“Sorry.” He shrugged, much as his brother had a few days earlier, and waved to her as she drove off.
“So, you think this guy is targeting homeless guys because he thinks he’s on some kind of a mission to clean up the streets?” Evan sat on the sofa, his bare feet propped on the coffee table.
“I think
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