Caging a Copycat - Chapter 8

They had a lead.

Someone was hunting agents involved in the Charles Daggett case. With Grant Harvey and Irene Pearce dead, that left two investigating agents, the judge, the prosecutor, Daggett’s defense attorney and twelve members of the jury. Hell of a victim pool, but it was a start. They’d been running through Daggett’s known associates, family, friends—anyone who’d had contact with the bastard before and after his trial or might have reason to cast doubt on the verdict. And come up empty. Silas tossed the last file across Olivia’s desk and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Two agents in the morgue. Not a single suspect to question.”

The sun dipped below the horizon and cast sharp reds, oranges and yellows across the sky. Time had distorted into a cold fluid, slipping through his fingers faster than he intended. He wasn’t sure how long they’d spent going through these files, but the knot in his gut wouldn’t be ignored any longer. Olivia was in danger.

“According to the prison logs, Charles Daggett hasn’t had any visitors, no incoming or outgoing calls, not even a single letter.” Olivia rubbed at her eyes. “We’ve been looking into his closest connections to see if there is a link. But if his goal was to cast doubt about his case by manipulating someone else to kill for him, how would he have contacted them in the first place?”

“Good question.” Silas scrolled through his email, targeting the latest update from the warden of Sing Sing. “The guards tossed Daggett’s cell a few hours ago. Didn’t come up with anything other than a few items of contraband. No cell phone. He’s been in solitary for the past two weeks. He wouldn’t have had access to anyone.”

“Okay. Then who benefits from Daggett’s case being reopened? A man like this, who’s brutally killed five agents, has the strongest motive, but he’s obviously not the one who killed Harvey and Pearce within the past month,” Olivia said. “He’s either recruited someone else, or Charles Daggett doesn’t have anything to do with these latest murders at all.”

His instincts said otherwise. Too many coincidences. The number of stab wounds, the victims themselves. Silas ran through the update from the warden a second time. There. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “When Charles Daggett was arrested eight years ago, he was highly unstable. Part of the judge’s sentencing included court-ordered therapy during his imprisonment. One-on-one with the prison psychologist and group therapy.”

“You think he got to one of his fellow therapy inmates. Someone susceptible to manipulation, enough to kill. Maybe someone who’s been recently released.” That same fire he’d noted her first day as his partner in DC brightened the brown of her eyes, and his blood pressure ticked up a notch. Her fingers moved over the keyboard. “The psychologist won’t release the names of inmates in therapy due to doctor-patient confidentiality, but I can tell you who the psychologist was and who was released from Sing Sing in the past two weeks.”

Adrenaline from a possible lead infused his veins. This was what they’d trained for. This was what they were good at. The hunt.

“Dr. Lara Farell is listed as the prison’s psychologist. Looks like she’s treated Daggett since his incarceration.” She shot to her feet and grabbed her coat. “Bingo. There’s only been one inmate released from the prison during our kill zone who relocated to Seattle. He’s staying at a halfway house in Queen Anne. Let’s move.”