I’m already at the side of the vehicle, punching in the address in the GPS. After which, I text Tic Tac the photos before calling him. He answers with, “Who is he?” obviously looking at the photos.
“Desmond Morrison. Her longtime friend with Asperger’s syndrome, who is, get this, an inventor of some type. I don’t know where. He won’t use the phone. That’s why there are no call records, but he meets Marilyn here once a month. I think she’s a mama bear to him. And I think Rip and his cohorts made a fool of him and she went off the deep end and took him with her. And I think he’s at her house. We’re an hour out and on our way there now. Get all you can get me. And update Andrew and Chief Houston.”
“On it,” he says. “Be careful. I just pulled him up. He’s had four assault charges over the years. He has a hot temper. Almost beat a man to death. More soon.” He hangs up.
I call the Boston PD and have them coordinate backup with the New Hampshire law enforcement. But I also ask everyone to stand by and stand down for now. When I end that call, I glance at Jay and know something is wrong instantly.
“What is it?”
“They’re not answering, Lilah. Neither of our men answers when I call.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The pizza is actually amazing.
The fact that our men still won’t answer is not.
The fact that with all I have on Marilyn and Desmond I can’t prove they did these crimes in a court of law just plain sucks, but I have a plan and make the calls to set it all in action. All while shoving food in my mouth.
I finish a slice with my MacBook in my lap, as Tic Tac and Lucas both load information about Desmond into a shared file with Andrew on speakerphone, waiting on a chopper home from New York City.
“Tell me about him,” he says.
“Desmond’s parents are both dead. Causes appear natural. He has no siblings. He’s brilliant, literally. He has a genius IQ. He’s worked in development for several big pharma companies and most recently worked for Danson Defense Contractors. He sees a psychologist on a regular basis, which I know because Lucas hacked his employee records. He himself provided them that information to support his claim of being disabled and in need of accommodations. All employers did, in fact, make accommodations for his conditions, but Desmond doesn’t just have Asperger’s. Asperger’s is not his problem at all. In fact, from what I see, it’s the source of his brilliance and success. But he’s bipolar. And it appears he tends to refuse his meds. He feels they affect his creativity. And when he goes manic, he gets violent.”
“Damn,” Andrew says. “I have a buddy who is bipolar. The meds make a difference, but I guess we can’t know what it’s like to have Asperger’s and be bipolar.”
“There are plenty of people with afflictions that they turn into assets,” I say. “I don’t believe these things make him a killer. Or violent. There are other factors. How he was raised. Genetics.”
“Says my sister, the profiler.”
“I don’t like these kinds of cases,” I say. “I just don’t believe in blaming a crime on a condition. That’s stigmatizing other people with that condition.”
“Then you don’t believe in a lesser sentence for mental health issues?”
“Not necessarily. Mental health is a universal consideration in all individuals.” I read a few more lines. “He beat an old lady half to death. He’s volatile. And our men aren’t answering the phone.” I glance at Jay. “Anything?”
He shakes his head and worry knots in my belly. I go back to the files. “He made some hefty bonuses over the years, but just never managed to hold a job. He was let go from Danson because he was assigned to a government contract job and his security was declined. He hasn’t worked since. That was nine months ago.”
“Maybe that’s when Marilyn got him involved with Rip.”
“He ran through his savings. And that’s not a question. Lucas has a note here about that. And there are cash withdrawals that match the times Ann gave money to her parents. I need to go, Andrew. I need to focus.”
“Lilah, I don’t think you have enough to make a case against these two. Not yet.”
“My two men are missing. I might soon,” I say. “Gotta go.” I hang up.
We disconnect and I glance at the sky, heavy clouds rolling in just as dusk begins to settle. “How did it get this late?” I ask.
My cellphone rings with Tic Tac’s number and considering he’s tracking our men’s phones, I quickly answer on speaker. “The phones are on her property, and I mean solidly on the property. It looks like they’re by a pond.