“How did it happen?” Janice repeated harshly.
“He was alone in his car.”
“His car?”
“He was parked near some abandoned railroad tracks.”
Janice raised trembling fingers to her lips. “Oh, God. Suicide? We… we had a quarrel this afternoon. He left the house upset. I’ve been trying to call him, to… to explain. Apologize. But he wouldn’t answer his phone. Oh, God!” she wailed and shot to her feet.
Turner grabbed her hand and pulled her back down onto the sofa. She stroked her arm. “Tom didn’t take his own life, Mrs. VanAllen. He was killed in the performance of his duty. The initial report is that a bomb was planted on his car.”
Janice gaped at her. “A bomb?”
“An explosive device, yes. A full investigation is already under way.”
“But who… who—”
“It pains me to tell you that the person suspected of involvement is another agent.”
“Coburn?” Janice whispered.
“You know of him?”
“Of course. First because of the warehouse massacre. Then Tom told me he was an agent working undercover.”
“Did they have contact?”
“Not to my knowledge. Although Tom told me earlier today that he might be called upon to bring Coburn in.” She read the pained expression on the agent’s face. “That’s the duty Tom was performing?”
“Mrs. Gillette was supposed to be at the train tracks. Tom went there to get her.”
“Coburn set him up?”
“We’re trying to ascertain—”
“Please tell me that Coburn is in custody.”
“Unfortunately no.”
“Jesus Christ, why not? What have you people been doing? Coburn is obviously crazy. If he’d been apprehended before tonight, as he should have been, Tom would still be alive.” Composure deserted her. She sobbed, “The whole freaking bureau is incompetent, and because of it, Tom is dead.”
“Mrs. VanAllen?”
Janice jumped. She wasn’t aware that Fitzgerald had rejoined them until he laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke her name.
He held his cell phone out to her. “For you.”
She stared at him, then at the phone, and eventually took it from him and put it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Mrs. VanAllen? This is Clint Hamilton. I just heard about Tom. I wanted to call and tell you personally how profoundly—”
“Fuck you.” She disconnected and handed the phone back to the agent.
Then she forcibly composed herself. She wiped her face and took several deep breaths, and when she felt more in control, she stood up and walked toward the door. She left the room, saying, “Let yourselves out. I need to check on my son.”
Chapter 39
Did you?”