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“Look, please. I’m not exaggerating. This is life or death. I’ve got to talk to O’Neill. There is the very real threat of an active shooter incident on that island.”
Russell said, “Goddamn, West. If you’re wrong about this, it’s your job. And maybe mine too.”
After some background commotion, Detective O’Neill came on the line.
“Special Agent, West? What do you mean we’ve got an active shooter on Camden Island?”
Jason drew in a breath. This had to be concise and to the point because he could feel O’Neill dying for an excuse to hang-up on him. “Eric Greenleaf is your unsub. Your perp. He helped Shepherd Durrand abduct and murder a German art student in 1998. And I doubt if that art student was the only victim. In fact, I know he wasn’t. A young man by the name of Marco Poveda filed charges against Durrand the year before the Havemeyer kid disappeared. I believe Greenleaf has been part of some kind of ongoing art forgery scam with Durrand, and when it looked like Chris Shipka was getting close to uncovering their operation, he murdered him.”
“What the hell…” O’Neill sounded winded. “You’ve got proof of all this?”
No way was there time for that explanation. Jason rushed on. “There’s an FBI Evidence Recovery Team on that island right now searching for Havemeyer’s body.”
“I know that. They’ve gone through the proper channels, and we’ve been cooper—”
“If you know anything about Greenleaf at all, and I’m guessing you must, you have to know that’s going to create an extremely volatile situation. If Greenleaf was willing to attack Chris Shipka, possibly in broad daylight, I believe he’s crazy enough to open fire on that team. If he feels he’s got nothing left to lose…”
There was a short, sharp silence on the other end of the phone.
“You know what,” Detective O’Neill said. “This is one time I think you could be right.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Are you sure this is a good idea,” Daisy was saying uneasily, as they rounded the point and headed toward the old dock and ruined boat houses behind Camden Castle.
“No.” Russell soberly checked his weapon. He swore as spray shot up, hitting him in the face. The bow of the boat crashed down in the gray-blue water. The water was rough. A storm was blowing in from Canada. And probably not the only one.
Jason had already checked his weapon three times. It was compulsive. A tic he had developed after the shooting in Miami. Even though his being shot had absolutely nothing to do with the state of his own weapon.
“He may not recognize th
e ERT for what it is,” Jason said. He was trying to convince himself of this scenario. “He may mistake them for crime scene personnel following up on Shipka’s murder. He may still be holed up in his lair. That would be the best-case scenario. In that case, we can just hold him in place and wait for reinforcements.”
Russell shot him a look of disbelief. “With FBI initials plastered all over their jackets and gear?”
Oh yeah. That.
“Patrol boats coming in from the west,” Daisy reported, shading her eyes. “The island will be crawling with cops before long.”
“Thank God for that,” Russell muttered, and Jason silently agreed.
He had still received no response from Sam. No word from Jonnie either. It worried him, even though he knew reception could be tricky on the island. There was no sound of gunfire drifting from the interior, so that was a good sign. Shots would carry on a day like this.
In fact, the silence was almost eerie.
“Greenleaf must have a boat?” Jason asked Daisy, to distract himself.
She nodded. “He keeps it in the skiff house.” She pointed at the large, green and white building coming up on their port side.
As the wind-scoured shoreline grew closer, Daisy said, “I don’t know if that dock is safe. It’s liable to collapse under you.”
“Bring us in as close as you can,” Jason said. “We’ll swim the rest of the way.”
Russell gaped at him. “Uh no, Rambo. I’ll take my chances with the dock, if you don’t mind.”
In the end, with some skilled seamanship on Daisy’s part, they managed to dock and disembark safely.
“Should I wait for you?” Daisy called, as Jason and Russell pulled their weapons and jogged down the splintered wooded walkway.
