Page 68 of Closer Than You Know

Eric’s expression had gone somber. “I don’t like this, Vera. I’m concerned that he’s up to something. Unlike Alcott, I’m not convinced that what’s happening here is the work of a copycat. But if it’s him, I don’t think it has to do with his past activity either. I think this is purely about you and his sudden need for revenge.”

“Could be, I suppose. I can pay him a visit first thing tomorrow. No problem. But why now? That’s the real question, don’t you think?” Vera felt a little buzz of something like anticipation and maybe just a little fear, which likely prevented his words from evoking a deeper reaction. “Better than twelve years is a long time to wait.”

The fact that Eric was even suggesting this case was actually related in any way to the Messenger screamed loudly that he knewsomething she did not. The man was trained to always CYA when it came to the MPD.

“He’s dying.”

The impact of those two words jarred her. And there it was, the “something” he knew that she didn’t. Wow. Vera cleared her head, then her throat just to buy time.

“I ... don’t know anything about his current circumstances. Frankly I haven’t even thought of him in all these years,” she responded. That last part might not be entirely true. Every so often she googled him. Made sure he was still where he was supposed to be. And once in a great while, the things he’d done found a way into her dreams.

“He found out just before Christmas,” Eric explained. “Pancreatic cancer. It’s quite advanced. They’ve given him only a few months at most. Alcott claims he was unaware of this development. I have my doubts on that one.”

The Bureau never liked sharing until necessary. As for Palmer Solomon, he had just turned sixty when Vera first met him. That would make him seventy-two now. His wife had died the year before his arrest. He had no siblings or extended family other than his children. A son, Christopher, and a daughter, Pamela, who had a son of her own, Patrick. Christopher had valiantly done all possible to keep his father out of prison. In addition to retaining the very best criminal attorney in Memphis, he had called in a high-powered psychiatrist to try and prove his father was insane and should be in a hospital, not a prison. Then Solomon had turned it all off. He had confessed in calm, vivid detail. The daughter was appalled and took her son and went into seclusion. According to the prison visitor logs, Christopher had been the only one to visit Solomon in prison.

The news unsettled Vera, perhaps far more than it should have. “I can see how this might prompt a renewed interest in revenge,” she agreed.

The timing, which had been the sticking point in her opinion, now made sense. And if revenge was the Messenger’s intent, he would want the connection to be obvious—his MO would need to be clear. Furthermore, he would want it to happen fast, before he was dead.

“You can see now,” Eric said, his worried eyes searching hers, “how I would be concerned for your safety.”

“You shared this with Bent already?”

“I told him when I first arrived. I wanted to tell you privately.”

He’d pulled one of her maneuvers. “You made sure Bent was aware before I could suggest limits or additions to what you intended to share.”

“I felt he needed to be fully aware,” Eric confessed.

The waitress returned, and Eric ordered for the both of them. God knew they’d eaten together enough times at their favorite Mexican restaurant in Memphis for him to be well versed in her preferred choices. She let him. Her mind was elsewhere, and she needed a moment to tamp down the rising frustration.

When the waitress had moved on, Vera said what was on her mind. “Like I said, I’ll go see Solomon tomorrow. Maybe I can end this thing.” It was always possible that all he wanted was her attention anyway. He had tried repeatedly those first couple of years of his prison sentence to open a line of communication with her. She had ignored him.

“The chief and Alcott have requested a conference call for eight tomorrow morning,” he said, rather than commenting on her decision.

She wanted to tell him that whatever her former boss and Agent Alcott had to say was irrelevant in her opinion, but this was Eric. He deserved better than her frustration with the higher-ups.

“What they say or think won’t matter,” she warned. “Not really. You know this.” The truth was, she should have been warned. There was always the chance that a heinous killer’s impending demise could prompt desperate actions.

“Lincoln County and Fayetteville may not have the bodies or the skill level for this kind of manhunt, if it comes to it,” Eric argued. “Youknow how this can go.”

The point was a valid one. The Messenger had known how to hide. If someone went missing—someone besides her—finding that someone in time to save his or her life would be impossible. They hadn’t been able to do it in Memphis with a hell-of-a-lot larger division and the help of the FBI—not to mention years of data on the bastard.

Clearly whoever was playing the part of puppet had already proven capable of the same. They hadn’t found Baker until the perp was ready for him to be found.

Fury twisted in her belly. Son of a bitch. Solomon was already several steps ahead. He’d had weeks—months to plan.

Forcing her head back into the conversation, she asked, “Are they planning to send someone else to help out?” They certainly hadn’t given that impression in today’s call. The whole thing could turn into a major clusterfuck.

“Obviously that’s the sheriff’s call.”

Part of her felt certain Bent would want to keep this in his department, but then, he might feel that in this situation, having outside help would be the best way to protect the residents of his county.

Deep down she had hoped—really hoped—this was not the Messenger orchestrating this show. That maybe it really was just some copycat. A part of her had known better ... but that knowledge had not kept her from ignoring the possibility, allowing her to sleep better at night. Denial was a powerful emotion.

“So,” Eric said, “that istheBent. The one who stole your heart when you were only seventeen.”

Why in the world was he bringing up her old love life? Then she followed his gaze, which was no longer on her.

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