The Fifth to Die: A gripping, page-turner of a crime thriller. J.D. Barker

something to do with Heather’s death?”

      Porter said nothing.

      He took the exit for Lake Shore Drive.

      Along with the captain’s white Crown Vic, there were three vehicles Porter didn’t recognize parked in front of his building — two black sedans and a van. All bore federal plates. He double-parked, blocking in the van, killed the siren, and left the lights flashing as he bound from the car and up the steps with Nash behind him.

      They were in the hallway at his door — Captain Dalton, Special Agent Diener, Agent Poole, and Special Agent in Charge Hurless of the Bureau’s 4MK task force. There were two federal crime-scene techs Porter didn’t recognize.

      Dalton saw them push through the door at the stairs and hurried over. “What the fuck were you thinking, Sam?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You know exactly what I mean.”

      Nash stood beside Porter. He said nothing.

      Dalton clicked through some images on his cell phone and held the small screen up to Porter. “Did you take it because of this? Are you looking for her?”

      Porter glanced at the screen. It was the note Bishop had left for him on the bed in his apartment along with the ear of the man who had killed his wife.

      Sam,

       A little something from me to you . . .

      I’m sorry you didn’t get to hear him scream.

       How about a return on the favor?

      A little tit for tat between friends.

      Help me find my mother.

      I think it’s time she and I talked.

       B

      “Are you looking for her?” Dalton repeated.

      Porter took a deep breath. “I’m trying to find him.”

      “That’s not your job,” Dalton said, fuming. “Have you been in contact with him? Has he reached out to you at all?”

      “No.”

      “Would you tell me if he had?”

      “Of course I would.”

      Dalton dropped his phone back into the pocket of his thick brown coat. “I want to believe you. But I’m not so sure I can anymore.”

      Nash frowned at Poole. “What are you up to?”

      Poole raised his hands defensively but said nothing.

      Dalton’s forehead furrowed. “He didn’t do anything. Security caught your buddy here on video sneaking into the FBI’s office across from yours this morning.”

      “He was probably just turning the heat up for them. Always nice to come into a toasty office on a day like today,” Nash replied. He jerked his thumb back at Diener. “That pud tugger was sitting at my desk in our office this morning. We’re all one big happy family down there. Share and share alike.”

      SAIC Hurless stepped forward. “Our office is considered federal territory until we vacate. Trespassing is a prosecutable offense, local law enforcement included.”

      “I pulled the file on Barbara McInley,” Porter said.

      Dalton rolled his eyes.

      Hurless drew closer. “Theft of federal property would be a separate but equally damning charge.”

      “I’ll return the file as soon as I’m done.”

      “You’ll return it now. Then we’ll decide if you get to keep your badge,” Hurless replied.

      Dalton’s face went red. He turned to Hurless. “The only person who will decide what happens with Detective Porter’s badge is me. You’re guests in my house. I can put you and your team out on the street with one phone call.”

      Hurless stepped closer. “Let’s be clear, Captain. We’re here because your prize detective let a serial killer walk. That mistake will cost lives. There’s a good chance it already has. You’ve got one girl dead and another missing, two crimes probably attributed to our guy, and you put the same clumsy detective in charge. Now he’s stealing files. How much blood do you want on your hands before you decide it’s time to fix this?”

      “4MK didn’t take the girls,” Porter said quietly.

      “Enough.” Dalton grunted.

      “I want to know what else this man is hiding. Open the door,” Hurless said.

      “No fucking way!” Nash blurted out. “Unless you have a warrant, you’ve got zero business in there.”

      Hurless began ticking off items on his fingers. “Federal trespass, theft of federal property, impeding a federal investigation, aiding and abetting a wanted federal fugitive . . . notice the key word? Losing his badge is the least of your friend’s worries right now.”

      Dalton took Porter by the shoulder and led him back down the hall. “You need to open that door.”

      “Why?”

      “You let them in, let them take a sniff around, and the charges go away. You share whatever you’ve got cooking in there, and this goes away,” Dalton said. “You don’t, and I can’t protect you.”

      “Screw them, Sam,” Nash said.

      Porter glanced back down the hall at the men standing at his door. Poole met his eyes. “All right.”

      “Sam!”

      Porter offered a weak grin at his partner. “It’s fine. I really don’t give a shit anymore. Maybe it will help catch him.”

      Dalton drew in a deep breath and steered Porter back down the hall.

      Porter pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

      Hurless and Diener pushed past him into the apartment, followed by the two crime-scene techs. Poole went in next. His eyes dropped to the ground as he walked past Porter and the others.

      Porter followed, with Dalton and Nash at his back.

      A whistle from the bedroom. “Holy hell,” Hurless said.

      “Oh, Christ,” Dalton said, his breath catching as he stepped into the room.

      Nash said nothing. He stepped up behind the others, dragging his feet.

      “What am I looking at?” Hurless asked.

      “Every mention of Bishop in the past four months, worldwide,” Porter replied. He stepped up to the map, located the yellow thumbtack he had placed at the Jackson Park Lagoon, and pulled it out, dropping it onto the nightstand.

      Diener was watching him. “What was that one?”

      “Jackson Park. I told you, he didn’t take these girls. This is something, someone different.”

      Poole crossed the room and kneeled down at the laptop, his eyes drifting over the text on the screen. “Google alerts?”

      “Every mention of Bishop or 4MK online,” Porter replied.

      Poole positioned the screen to get a better look, prepared to type, then turned back to Porter. “May I?”

      “Sure.”

      Porter watched as he scrolled back through the messages, scanning the subjects of each, then refreshing the screen to load the previous fifty, repeating. When he reached the end, he looked up at the maps. “Where do you think he is?”

      “I have no idea.”

      Hurless started opening drawers, rifling through his clothes.

      Nash