Kate sneezed. “As soon as we get our budget approved, we’ll hire someone to clean. We sneezed all day yesterday.”
“Great job. Thank you.” Laurel started toward her office, but paused by the open doorway to the left, to a room she’d figured would serve as a small conference room. Three blond, teenaged girls were inside, pushing different laptops together. “Hello?”
Kate hustled up. “These are my girls, Vida, Val, and Viv, ages twelve, fourteen, and sixteen in order. They’re helping to contact the FBI through those old laptops, but I’m hoping we’ll get much better computers soon.”
Viv, the oldest girl, had straight blond hair with wispy bangs and was the shortest of the three. “I think this room was a computer room, because it has no windows or skylights, so it’s perfect for a computer center. I hope it’s okay that we took it over.” She grinned. “We copied your door desk idea.” The kids had set up three doors on blocks, creating an efficient work area.
Val had long, straight hair without bangs. “I’ve never worked for the FBI before.”
Vida, the youngest, was the tallest and had curly blond hair to her shoulders. “We’re not really working for you, but we’ll help where we can.”
Laurel took in the setup. “I appreciate it.”
“At the very least,” Kate said, “I have an email account with the FBI now, so I can try to request furnishings.”
“Fantastic,” Laurel said, then turned back to the sweet teens. “Keep up the good work.” She would go through the records sent from Fish and Wildlife again. “In fact, would you three like to be detectives for the day?”
“Yes,” all three said instantly.
Who knew? They might be able to dig up useful information. “How about you conduct research on the Internet and all social media channels for Dr. Abigail Caine, Carl Snow, and Captain Huck Rivers?” From a professional perspective there wasn’t a reason for her to request background information on any of the three, but she liked to know who she was dealing with, and she was curious to learn what was out there about Uncle Carl. She needed a computer guru, but the kids would have to do for now. Hopefully Fish and Wildlife would share any additional information they found in the video surveillance.
The girls squealed and all moved to their laptops, which ranged from a dented pink to a bright red.
“You need chairs,” Laurel murmured.
“We have chairs in the car,” Kate said. “Viv? Go get them, would you? They’re lawn chairs, but they should do.”
Laurel was working with teenagers, dented laptops, and lawn chairs. Who knew? With social media, perhaps the girls would find what she needed. “Kate? Do you have a computer?”
Kate nodded. “Yes. It’s in my bag by the ice cream display case. It’s old and slow, but it works. Who would you like me to spy on?”
Laurel bit her lip. “How about you do a search for missing persons fitting the general descriptions of the victims and also one for the sex offender registry in the western part of the state? We’ll also need to arrange an hourly rate for your daughters, since they’re working. They deserve to be paid, and I think I have a small budget to use. Thanks.” Her phone rang and she lifted it to her ear while turning and walking toward her office. “Agent Snow.”
“I heard the news got a hold of the case and you’ve already pissed off the local sheriff,” George said. “I like being the assistant director of the FBI, Snow. Don’t screw things up.”
“I won’t.” Her hands itched to knit something. It had been too long already. “While I have you, sir, could you tell me everything you know about Captain Huck Rivers? It’s odd that he doesn’t seem to be more actively involved with the regional Fish and Wildlife office.”
“Already looked him up,” George said, sounding smug. “Figured you’d ask, so I called a buddy of mine who’s on the commission that oversees the Washington State Fish and Wildlife Agency.” Ice clinked in a glass over the line. “Apparently, Rivers was part of a crew that dealt with the killings in Broad River near the Washington and Oregon border a couple of years ago.”
Laurel filed through her memories. “I recall something about that case, but I was consulting in Germany at the time. Remember, you arranged for me to assist with the Dark Alley Killer in Berlin?”
“Yes, that’s right. Anyway, in Huck’s case, they had a serial killer working the line between the two states. The guy took boys aged between six and eight, and a state congressman had a son kidnapped along with another boy.” More ice rattled in a glass as George drank what was probably one of his usual diet sodas. “Rivers tracked the guy to the water and saved one kid but was too late for the other. He lost it and nearly beat the killer to death—guy also happened to be a local preacher. The killer used God as part of his ritual, which is just sick and was one of the reasons Huck Rivers lost it.”
Laurel could understand. “Was he diagnosed?”
“Yeah. PTSD, but the congressman called in favors and got Rivers assigned back at home with the deal that he works remotely and only during search and rescue type scenarios. It was supposed to be temporary for a couple of years, but my contact didn’t know what was supposed to happen when those two years were over,” George said. “Oh, before I forget, I’m pulling an agent from Portland to help you out. Quick FYI, though. They weren’t sorry to lose him. Oh. I have to go.” He clicked off.
Laurel rubbed her eye and her phone dinged again. “Agent Snow,” she answered.
“Agent Snow. Hello,” began Dr. Abigail Caine, her British accent almost unnoticeable over the phone. “That was quite a press conference I witnessed on the Internet a few minutes ago. Most people might think you lost your temper for a moment there.”
Laurel flipped the light switch in her office. “But not you?”
“No.” Abigail chuckled. “I know better. Everything you do is deliberate, and you meant to bring the public’s attention to the serial killer case, challenge those doltish-looking men to work with you, and show that you won’t be cowed. You accomplished quite a bit with one little statement, didn’t you?”
“You’re giving me too much credit,” Laurel said, shrugging out of her coat. “What can I do for you, Dr. Caine?”
Caine cleared her throat. “Abigail. I really must insist, Laurel.”
