CHAPTER NINE

Faith was halfway through a turkey club when Detective Hilary returned with a name. "Oliver Pennington. Pharmacist for St. Paul's Hospital in Glencoe."

"Wonderful," Faith said, tossing Turk the rest of her sandwich. The big dog happily snapped the sandwich out of the air and swallowed it in two bites.

Hilary set a printout in front of the two human agents and sat across from them. "Thirty-four years old, has been a dues-paying member of Lake Yoga for fifteen months."

"Fifteen months?" Michael asked.

"Yes."

"Interesting," Faith said. "He started taking Samantha's classes six months ago."

"I called the studio. It looks like they track memberships, but not which classes their members take. It's an open studio. The dues pay for everything, so you can pop in whenever you want."

"Have any complaints been filed against him?"

"None. The woman I spoke to mentioned that Samantha had asked him not to come to her classes anymore, but apparently no one else complained, and Samantha wouldn't say why she'd asked him to stop coming."

Faith shared a grim look with Michael. That decision fit with the kind and sympathetic person Giacomo described. It was unfortunate how many well-meaning people unknowingly facilitated the actions of killers.

Well, they didn't know Oliver was the killer yet. He was a person of interest at the moment, nothing more.

"What's the connection to Cassidy Holt?" she asked.

"That's pretty thin," Hilary admitted. "But Cassidy was seen at the hospital for a twisted ankle, and Pennington filled her prescription for Percocet."

"They give Percocet for twisted ankles?" Michael asked incredulously.

"They do if you tear ligaments," Hilary replied.

"Okay, torn ligaments is a little more serious than a twisted ankle."

"Well, she tore them twisting her ankle."

"Not important, fellas," Faith interrupted. "That's the only verifiable connection with Cassidy Holt?"

"Yes. It's worth mentioning that the hospital is only a mile away from the Botanic Gardens."

"That gives him access to Cassidy," Michael said. "And if he was stalking Samantha, then odds are, he knew where she lived."

"I think we have enough to go talk to him," Faith said before cautioning, "let's not try to shove him into a box until we have a conversation."

Hilary lifted a finger. "I hate to be a pessimist, but right now, we don't have enough to make him talk."

"Seriously? You don't think he's a suspect at this point?"

"I don't think we can make him talk," Hilary clarified, "but I might be able to convince a judge to get me a search warrant on his property. If we can find evidence of him taking pictures of women without their consent, then we can bring him up on menacing charges and make him talk to us whether he wants to or not."

Faith frowned. "I'm not trying to be judgmental, Detective, but I don't want to be involved in a handshake deal with a judge. If we do this, we do this aboveboard."

"It will be aboveboard," Hilary insisted. "We know this guy's a creep. Even if he's not the killer, he needs to have it made clear to him that stalking women and taking pictures of them without their permission isn't okay. As far as the judge, I've solved over one hundred cases with this department, and some of them I solved because I got a hunch, and the hunch led me the right direction. Some of the others I solved because I got a hunch and it led me the wrong direction but I was able to figure that out quickly and stop wasting time."

Faith could understand Hilary's argument, but she still wasn't convinced. "I still think we should go talk to him first, and then if he acts fishy, we can look into a warrant."

"What if we split the difference?" Hilary suggested. "I go get that warrant while you two go talk to him at the hospital."

Fait's eyes narrowed. "Why is this so important to you?"

Hilary's lips thinned, and when he replied, there was more emotion in his voice than Faith had heard from him before. "I want this guy," he said. "After thirty years with Chicago P.D., I'll admit that I've become desensitized to a lot of things, but some coward sneaking up behind women to break their necks over some pagan ritual is something I haven't become desensitized to. I don't like the women of Chicago feeling like they have to look over their shoulder to feel safe in their own homes. I don't like the idea of a Franklin West copycat terrorizing my neighbors."

"He's not a Franklin West copycat," Faith snapped. "He's nothing like Franklin West."

The vehemence in her voice surprised her. Evidently it surprised Hilary and Michael too. Hilary blinked, and Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Hilary looked like he wanted to argue the point or explain himself further, but he chose to let the debate drop. "All right. Be that as it may, I want this creep brought in. I've seen too many people slither out of an arrest because they fell back on the 'no warrant, no talky' line. Maybe that's not something you've run into before, but I have. I've seen people die because we didn't take the steps needed to back a suspect into a corner. You don't have to agree with my methods, Special Agent, but you're in my city, and I am urging you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

Faith didn't think that Hilary's experience led to the conclusions he had derived from it, but she didn't want to argue anymore. As long as he didn't do anything that would cause trouble for them later, she would swallow her pride and play nice.

"All right. As long as you get me a clean warrant, then that's fine with me."

"Oliver's dirty," he replied. "So any warrant we get on him will be clean."

"Sounds good to me," Michael said quickly. "I have the hospital plugged into the GPS already. Let's go, Faith. Thank you, Detective."

He led Faith and Turk out of the precinct. Faith could tell he was upset, but she didn't press him until they were in the car. "You're mad at me."

"Not mad," he insisted. "Concerned. That little snafu over West. What was that?"

Faith was a little taken aback by that. She knew he felt awkward about that, but she expected him to scold her over her resistance to the warrant. "I just… I really hate people acting like West is the reason everyone kills. When have we met any killers who mimic West?"

"I know of at least one," Michael said.

This is your fault, Bold.

Faith looked away. "Do you think this killer is like West?"

"I don't think Hilary was arguing that he was."

He pulled onto the freeway and accelerated to merge with traffic. A driver in a lifted pickup started to speed up to cut him off, but braked hard when he saw that it was a police vehicle. Michael kept an eye on him until he was sure the pickup wouldn't try anything stupid, then continued.

"I think Hilary was saying he didn't want a prolific spree-slash-serial killer in Chicago. West happens to be the most prolific and well-known serial killer alive right now. It would be like someone saying they don't want the next John Wayne Gacy in their town."

Faith frowned. Michael was right. Obviously right. Clearly right. She shouldn't have needed to hear him say that. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. You might want to kick an apology Hilary's way, but it can wait. I'm just concerned that you might still be fixating on him."

"Do you have an issue with how I've been performing on this case?" she asked.

"I have an issue with that smarmy-ass question," he said. "I'm concerned because you're my friend, and I want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay," she insisted. "I just made a mistake. Look, it's… grating… to hear people treat him like a celebrity. I'm not very happy that he's been given celebrity status like he's a damned movie star. But it's not a big deal. It just rubbed me the wrong way to hear Hilary say that. Especially arguing for some sort of handshake deal with a judge."

"I don't know if handshake deal means what you think it means," Michael replied, "and I also don't think that Hilary's suggesting anything illegal. I think he knows a judge who trusts his judgment, not a sleazeball whose palm he can grease." He glanced at her. "Seriously, why does this bother you anyway? You're normally the one stepping outside of the rules to get something done."

She sighed. "Upper management is trying to get me sidelined to a desk job when Turk retires next month. The media blew up the story of my mistakes with past cases to try to sensationalize the West case even more, and now the brass is worried that I might be a liability in the field because I'm more well-known now."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Well, no one's recognized you here so far, so I'd say they're mistaken."

"Yes, but if we get a complaint saying we obtained an illegal warrant to talk to a suspect, then it's going to make the probably end of my field career a certain end."

Michael nodded. "I get it. I understand now. But I still think you're worrying too much. And at the end of the day, it's about protecting the innocent and catching the bad guy, right?"

Turk barked firmly.

"See?" Michael said. "He gets it."

Faith chuckled. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just hate feeling like I'm walking on eggshells."

"So many roads are paved with them," Michael said.

They reached the hospital a few minutes later. As Michael pulled into the parking lot, Faith noticed a man matching Oliver's prescription about to enter a pickup truck.

"Hold on, Michael," she said. "I think that's him."

"It is? Shit. Hold on."

He swung the cruiser around and pulled behind the truck. Faith rolled down her window and said, "Oliver Pennington?"

The man jumped and turned to her, eyes wide. "Wh—what do you guys want?"

"I'm Special Agent Faith Bold with the FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince, and my K9 unit, Turk. We have some questions we'd like to ask you."

"Oh… Um… I don't know. I really don't know anything. I don't think so, guys. Sorry."

"You haven't heard why we want to talk to you yet."

Oliver was trembling slightly. He looked ahead of his truck, then back at the cruiser. "I just don't know anything that can help you. I'm sorry."

"You don't know anything about Cassidy Holt or Samantha Reynard?"

At the mention of Samantha Reynard's name, Oliver jumped. His demeanor changed suddenly. "You guys need to get the fuck out of my way! I told you I don't want to talk to you. It's illegal for you to block my truck like that."

Michael's phone buzzed. He checked the text, then nodded to Faith. "Warrant went through."

"Outstanding," Faith said. "Oliver, I'm going to ask nicely. If I have to ask again, it's not going to be nearly as nice. Will you please come with us so we can talk?"

Oliver looked green. He looked at the cruiser, then at Faith. She saw his eyes change and warned, "Don't do it, Oliver."

Then he bolted. Faith sighed and got out of the passenger seat. "Go get him, boy."

Turk moved like a blur. Faith and Michael sprinted to keep up, but there was no human on Earth who could outrun an athletic German Shepherd.

Oliver certainly wasn't one of them. Turk outstripped him easily and ran in front of him, causing Oliver to skid to a halt. Faith and Michael flanked him, their weapons drawn.

"Oliver Pennington, you're being detained on suspicion of criminal menacing. At the moment you're not under arrest, but that's a courtesy at this point. We have a search warrant for your apartment, and Chicago P.D. is executing that warrant now. I think we know what they're going to find."

Oliver held Faith's eyes for a moment. Then he sighed. His shoulders slumped, and when Faith asked, "Are you going to come talk to us," he nodded.

"Wonderful," Faith said, holstering her weapon and pulling out her handcuffs. "Let's go."

Oliver offered no more resistance as she led them to her cruiser. He didn't seem the type to have killed two women in such a brutal way as Cassidy Holt and Samantha Reynard were killed. But then, Franklin West didn't seem the type to have bound over thirty people and cut them to ribbons until they bled to death.

Faith really hated that she had just compared Oliver Pennington to Franklin West.