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"No," Brenda replied with another frown. She even shook her head to preface her response. "I actually gave the sketch to one of the guards on duty. We wanted to make sure that whoever was at the gate recognized the man who had been stalking her. I recall that post, but I wasn't clear about who ended up with the sketch. In the end, it didn't matter. Bobby Anderson didn't match the male subject who had been stalking Lori. Bobby has a scar on the lower left side of his cheek that Lori never described her stalker having during that time."
That explained why the sketch had never really been a focal point.
"Jim, what are the odds that sketch would still be floating around somewhere?" Brook asked, already getting the sense that she wasn't going to like his answer.
"Wait," Brenda exclaimed, holding up a hand before her husband could address the issue. "I keep all of my sketchbooks. They are out back in my studio. I'll be right back."
"There is something else, isn't there?" Jim asked guardedly after Brenda had left his office. He narrowed his eyes to monitor her reaction, which Brook gave with a slow nod of agreement. "What is it?"
"As I explained previously, we believe that we are dealing with a civilian who began targeting the daughters of high-ranking officials in the military." Brook paused, carefully rearranging the wording in her head so as to avoid unnecessary questions regarding her sources. It was best to lead him into the setup. "Do you know the other fathers in question? Maybe worked with them while in the field or on special projects that might have resulted in catching the attention of the unsub? General Harlock, possibly? Melanie was technically the first murder."
Jim slowly stood from his chair, making sure that he snatched the tumbler that had sat empty for the past half hour or so. There was a small bar area in the corner that didn't look to be well used even though there were canters filled with alcohol. He took the crystal topper off one and poured himself more than two fingers worth of what she now believed to be whiskey instead of brandy due to the bottle she spotted behind the thin glass window of the wooden cabinet.
"Why do I get the feeling that you already know the answer to that question?" Jim responded, his tone hardening at the belief that he might have been played. The piercing clank of the topper being placed back into the canter was quite loud. "You are wading into dangerous territory, and in an area that I know for a fact Graham Elliott would want you to steer clear of, Brook. You may still hold a TS security clearance, but you do not have a need to know—nor are you privy to—compartmentalized information of this nature."
"I will ask you the same question that I asked General Elliott," Brook said matter-of-factly, not willing to back down on the subject. This could very well be the core reason their unsub started to hunt the daughters of the father's involved—a project that involved weaponized semi-automatous AI drones. "Are you ready to solve your daughter's murder?"
"Of course, I am," Jim exclaimed, a rasp of desperation in his tone. He spun around, leaving his drink on top of the cabinet. "Do you know how long it has taken my family to come to terms with Lori's murder? I honestly thought we had, but after hearing this..."
Jim had been going to say that he would have rather had Bobby Anderson truly be the one who took his daughter's life. It was better to know that the monster who took his baby girl was locked behind bars, not walking around free to wreak pain on others in the same manner.
"Dad?"
"Charlie, everything is fine, son." Jim cleared his throat as he came to terms with the situation at hand. It certainly wasn't an easy one, but he wasn't a man who turned away from the truth. "Go back and join your others. We still have business to discuss and—"
"You mean Lori, right?" Charlie asked, crossing his arms in agitation. He had the same color eyes as his father, and they were currently trained on her. She tensed, not needing to be told what he thought of her. "Do you know who this woman is? I saw her press conference last night. She's the sister of—"
"Enough."
Charlie spun around in the doorway at the sound of his mother's stern voice. While the two of them had a not-so-quiet conversation about being respectful to their guests, Brook slowly stood and collected her dress coat.
"Jim, I'm not asking you to reveal classified information," Brook said quietly as she joined him on the far side of the office for their own quiet conversation. "All I'm asking is that you think over that time when you worked on the project and try to come up with a list of names for me—names of every civilian connected to the project who stands out in your mind for whatever reason, anyone at a restaurant or café who could have overheard ongoing conversations that were repeated about said project, an employee at a gas station who might have—"
"I get the idea, Brook." Jim ran his hands over his face as he monitored the conversation between his youngest son and his wife. "I'll work on a list this evening. I'd like to be kept apprised of your ongoing investigation. I will still have access to my messages while I'm deployed, so I'll also be able to answer any follow-up questions you may have."
"I appreciate that," Brook responded as she returned to her seat to collect her purse. Brenda had stepped around her son, an over-sized sketch book in her possession. "This is the sketch that I drew upon Lori's recollection of the man who she spotted numerous times over the months before her deployment. She only caught the side of his face, because he always wore a cap low on his forehead. There are actually several pages, because we wanted to get it just right. Lori took a picture of it with her phone and then printed it out for the guard station at her base."
Brook carefully took the sketch pad that had been turned to a page in a way that denoted her intention of treating something that she'd work on with her daughter as if it were a treasure. It was, in an odd way. It may also be the key to tracking down the real unsub.
Brook studied the sketch, though she could understand why it hadn't been a focal point, either at the time or after the young woman's death. The majority of the unsub's face had been camouflaged by the shadow of a ball cap.
"Thank you, Brenda." Brook carefully pulled the other pages and front cover over the drawing in order to protect it. There was an emblem on the cap, which might give them something to work with if Bit could do his magic. "I give you my word that I'll return this to you afterward."
Brook carefully worded her last statement, not wanting to give a grieving mother false hope. While the avenues were all pointing in one direction, Brook had spent a lifetime on random back roads searching for her brother. She understood more than most how easy it was to get lost by following the hints of signs that weren't really there.
"Before you leave, let me introduce you to our sons," Jim said, motioning for her and his wife to proceed him out of his office. "They...well, they struggled just as we did with their sister's death. Reopening the case isn't going to be easy for any of us."
The fact that all three men had become conspicuously quiet as Brook, Brenda, and Jim walked through the living toward the sprawling kitchen was a dead giveaway that their father was right regarding their opinion. If looks could kill, she wouldn't be walking out of the house as she had planned to do shortly.
"Daniel, Les, and Charlie, this is Brook Sloane. Brook, these two gentlemen are Rich Mundy and Artie Keyes. They grew up with our sons, and they're like family. I'll go into detail later, boys, but suffice it to say that Brook has a credible theory that Bobby Anderson isn't responsible for Lori's death."
Jim paused long enough to make the point that his decision had already been made and there would be no changing it. Daniel took more after his father, while Charlie resembled his mother. Les was a mixture of the two. The three of them weren't even sitting at the kitchen table with their two friends. They were leaning against the counter by age, though she doubted they even consciously realized they'd done so.
"Are you really going to do this to Mom?" Daniel asked, clearly speaking for the three of them. Rich and Artie looked to want to be anywhere else but this house. "Leave the past buried, Dad. We were just starting to live our lives again."
"Your father isn't doing anything to me, Daniel James Snyder," Brenda chastised as she stepped forward as the matriarch she was, staring down each of her sons until they shifted their gazes away from her. Whether that was due to shame or anger, Brook wasn't sure. Either way, Brenda had gotten her point across. "This is about right and wrong. This is about whether or not the man who took Lori's life is the one sitting behind bars right now. This is about potentially saving other families from losing their loved ones. This isnotabout us. Do I make myself clear?"
There were mumblings of agreements between the three men. Brook realized that there was always a child within who strived at nothing more than to make a parent proud.
