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“Thank you, Missy.”
“Anything for you, baby girl.”
While Missy looked up the information they needed, the two agents went to the dining room to eat breakfast. They ate heartily, taking advantage of being one of the first people in line by loading their plates with sausages, bacon, eggs, and hash browns. Both talked animatedly, laughing and joking like old times.
Faith felt a sudden powerful moment of nostalgia as they bantered. She recalled her early years with the Bureau when she and Michael first partnered together. She had taken an instant liking to the more seasoned investigator, and a big part of what she loved about the job was the chance to work with him.
She hadn’t fallen in love with him for a while, but when the feelings came, they came hard. For a moment, she thought they would marry.
The feelings left as hard as they arrived, and she didn’t feel the same way about him now, but there were moments when she remembered what it felt like to love him and wished that things could have been different.
This was one of those moments, and it was strong enough that Faith had to excuse herself and go refill her coffee to allow the moment to pass. When she sat down, her emotions had calmed, and she was able to enjoy the friendly banter they shared without conflating her love for her friend to love for him as more than a friend.
Still, the glow of that memory remained with her, and she couldn’t quite stop wondering what might have been.
Missy called them just as they finished the last of their breakfast. “I got him,” she said. “Fred Harrison. The woman who was killed in the car accident involving William Hucksley was Amanda Harrison. She was twenty-six at the time of her death. She and Fred had been married for five years. Reports say that he tried to physically assault Hucksley at the scene and had to be restrained.”
“And Fred lives here?”
“Yep. Near downtown. He sold their house and bought a penthouse in the city.”
“They have penthouses in Houston?”
“Sure we do,” Missy replied. “We’re the fourth-biggest city in the country. This isn’t the boonies, sugar.”
Faith smiled. “I sit corrected. Do we have an address?”
“Of course I do!” Missy exclaimed. “What kind of a cop do you take me for?”
Faith laughed and took the information from Missy. Michael looked up the address and determined it would take fifteen minutes to reach the location. From there, they would bring him to Missy’s station. “Don’t go to the central station,” Missy warned. “You don’t want to deal with the red tape there.”
Faith agreed, and when she hung up with Missy, she said, “All right. We’re on our way.”
“You want to get the dog or leave him here?” Michael asked.
“Obviously, I’m bringing him,” Faith said. “He’s worked just as hard as we have. He deserves to see the fruits of his labor.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The building where Fred Harrison lived was a reasonably well-appointed high-rise a mile outside of downtown. Faith counted thirty-five stories, and according to the receptionist at the leasing office, the penthouse occupied the top three. Fred had put his wife’s life insurance money to good use, relatively speaking.
Faith and Michael took the elevator to the lowermost of the penthouse floors and knocked on the door. Fred’s workplace told them that he was out of the office today. It was quite possible that he was out somewhere enjoying the beautiful sunshine, but they decided to try him at home first.
That proved to be the right decision when Fred answered the door on the first ring. “Hello?” he asked, frowning in confusion at the two agents. “Can I help you?”
He was tallish, perhaps an inch shorter than Michael’s six-foot-one, and had blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was in good shape and answered the door wearing a track shirt declaring him a participant in last year’s Houston Marathon. He looked good. Faith wondered if he had this physique when he was married or if exercise and healthy living was something he picked up after his wife’s death as a means to cope with her loss.
Or as a means to get in shape for the murders he planned to commit.
“Good morning,” she said, “Fred Harrison?”
Fred nodded. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Special Agent Faith Bold with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince and my K9 unit, Turk.”
“Okay,” he said, still confused. “How can I help you?” he asked for the third time.
“We’re investigating the murders of Marvin Prescott, Dr. Barbara Ames, and William Hucksley, Esquire. We’d like to ask you some questions. Can we come inside?”
