“No. I don’t think so.”
Wade nodded. He tapped his finger against the table and focused on Harcroft.
Was that finger tap a bad sign?
“Okay.” The sergeant leaned forward. “Let’s go through this again. Tell us everything Leringer said to you.”
“Why? I told you everything the first time.”
“We’d like to hear it again.”
For the second time I told them Morton’s words. When I finished I was tired, but they wouldn’t let up. They wanted to hear a third round. I glanced at the camera. Were they trying to trip me up? Or just make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. With each question my muscles tensed more, and my head started to pound. What was all this about? Had I stepped on some sort of land mine? The thoroughness of these two men, their intense body language made me more frightened as each moment ticked by.
After an interminable time their interrogation slowed. I pressed my hands to my temples. My stomach was empty, my nerves shot. I needed to eat. “Where’s my mother? I want to know if she’s all right.”
“I’ll check on her.” Wade left the room. I had the distinct impression he left to do more than just see about my mother.
In Wade’s absence I faced off with Harcroft. “What’s happening? I want to know what this is all about.”
He shook his head. “We’re not sure.”
“Who do you think those fake FBI men were?”
“Don’t know. Wish we did. We’ll bring in a forensic artist before you leave. We need a sketch of their faces.”
My shoulders sagged. How long would that take? “Well, at least give me a good guess as to what this is about.”
He took a deep breath. “Afraid I can’t do that. We just don’t know enough yet.”
Didn’t know enough—or wouldn’t tell me?
“Look.” My voice toughened. “I’m in this whether I like it or not. Those two men know where I live. Where my mother lives. They had guns. And now you won’t even tell me anything. How can you know they won’t come back? They threatened to do just that!”
He gave a slow nod. “We can’t be sure about that. So we’re going to put someone on your house.”
The news sucked air from my lungs. “You mean put it under surveillance?”
“Yes.”
“By whom? San Carlos Police?” Like Half Moon Bay, my town contracted with the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department for its police services. But how subtle would that be—a marked car sitting at the curb?
“Wade will set it up with plainclothes detectives. From which department, I’m not sure.”
My house, staked out by plainclothes deputies. Extra time and expense for some department. Why would they do that unless they thought chances were good those men would return?
“You think they’re coming back. Don’t you.” I had to push the words out.
“You will be safe, Mrs. Shire. You’ll be under watch.”
Really. “Those men are smart. You think they won’t spot an unmarked car?”
“Mrs. Shire, we’re going to do all we can to protect you.”
My nerves were vibrating. “‘All you can’ means telling me what you know. I need to understand what I’m dealing with here.”
“We’ll keep you informed as we learn more. I can tell you we’re already working hard on this case.”
I eyed Harcroft. Would he really “keep me informed”? The doubt wound my muscles tighter. If I couldn’t even trust law enforcement . . .
Who was Nathan Eddington?
Wade returned, declaring my mother was having a wonderful time talking to Nance. “I asked if she wanted to see you. She insisted, ‘Oh, no, I’m sure my daughter’s fine.’”
His words stabbed through me. I could almost envy Mom’s ignorance of what was happening.
Wade and Harcroft moved me to a bigger room where a third man joined us—a forensic artist with the wild name of Bob Smith. For the next hour and a half I struggled to remember the faces of Rutger and Samuelson as the artist scratched pencil against paper. In the end we produced two good likenesses of the men. Wade and Harcroft studied them. Wade shook his head. “Recognize either one of them?” he asked Harcroft.
The deputy turned his hands palms up.
By the time we were done it was after 8:00. I so wanted to go home—and yet I didn’t. How would I ever sleep, knowing my house was under surveillance? Wondering if those men would return. What if they got past the plainclothes deputy and into the house?
What if they slipped into Mom’s room?
Chapter 7
SPECIAL HOUSE SELECT COMMITTEE INVESTIGATION INTO FREENOW TERRORIST ACTIVITY OF FEBRUARY 25, 2013