CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Garvey stared at the pile of evidence on the floor. In addition to the collars and remotes, they found three different wolf masks. Ciccolo evidently had adopted a persona as the killer. In the office, Michael sat in front of the computer, desperately trying to find any indication of where Ciccolo would go next.

Turk stood next to Faith, who in turn stood next to Garvey. His tail switched back and forth as he stared at the pile of evidence. He looked up at Faith and whined softly.

Faith knew what he was saying. They needed to hurry.

"Damn," Garvey whispered softly. "I never would have suspected him."

"Did you know him?" Faith asked.

"Well, no," Garvey admitted. "What I mean is that I would never have suspected someone connected to law enforcement. If someone was going to go vigilante, I would have expected a civilian."

"Well, technically speaking, Ciccolo is a civilian," Faith pointed out. "He contracts with the police department, but he never swore an oath."

"Not that that's an excuse," Garvey added.

She sounded like she was trying to remind herself of that point. Faith didn't blame her. Considering what she knew of their victims and what she and Michael had seen of the gang and the people involved in it, she had a hard time drumming up any sympathy for the people who had died.

But she had a job to do, and just because the people you targeted were bad people didn't mean you sacrificed your values to do it.

She felt a stab of guilt at that thought. Faith herself had compromised a shocking number of her own values over the course of her pursuit of West. From confronting and accusing people with no evidence other than her own intuition to speaking with witnesses behind the Bureau's back to even assaulting a suspect and breaking down his door, Faith had oftentimes wondered who exactly she was and if she still believed the things she believes.

Well, she had suffered her own consequences, and whatever opinions she might hold, Ciccolo needed to suffer his.

"Did you see any signs of flight at Ciccolo's house?" Faith asked.

"Well, we didn't go inside yet," Garvey replied. "I went ahead and applied for that warrant on the way over here, so we'll probably be able to enter the property tomorrow."

"By that time, he could be halfway to Canada," Faith said.

"He could already be halfway to Canada," Garvey pointed out, "but I think I've seen enough vigilantism for one lifetime. I don't intend to become one myself."

"Fait enough," Faith replied, "but I think we can justify this as probable cause."

"Right," Garvey said. "I'll send some officers back over to enter and see what they can find."

While she radioed instructions, Faith headed to Michael. Michael was digging through Eric's internet searches, trying to see if he could glean any info.

"Anything useful?" Faith asked.

Michael sighed. "Well, he's getting his collars from a website called Protected Pooches. He's using a pseudonym, Vincent Harris."

Faith whistled. "He's using his victims' names as his handle. That's cold."

Michael shrugged. "Can't say I blame him. This is the first case I've worked that I sympathize with the killer more than with his victims."

Faith looked over at Turk, who now rested next to the back door. "I know what you mean," she said. "Have you found a trail for Vincent Harris yet?"

"Nothing yet. The electrical products are mostly coming from hardware parts stores. I do see two orders for a cattle prod, but those are under the name Francis Evans."

"Evans was another victim," Faith reminded him. "That might be something."

"Yeah, but who's Francis?" Michael asked. "None of the gang members were named Francis, unless I'm missing something."

"No," Faith said, "they weren't."

"So is it a completely made-up name or is there someone we don't know out there in Eric's sights?"

Faith's blood chilled as she imagined their killer out there hunting while they were so close to finding him but at the same time so far away. That had happened a lot. In fact, it had happened more often than now. Faith and Michael never worked with the slow and methodical killers. It was always the crazed ones pushing a frenzied pace that fell in their laps.

"I'm not sure," Faith replied, "but I'm leaning toward the latter."

Michael sighed. "Well, there are…" he clicked a few more buttons, then said, "eight thousand two hundred four Francis's in Atlanta. Male Francis's anyway, although there were women at the dogfighting ring, so maybe it's wrong to assume all of his victims will be men."

"That's too many people to dig through anyway," Faith said. "Eric will have killed his next victim by then. If he is looking for a victim."

"You think he might have run already?" Michael asked. "I overheard you and Garvey talking about it."

"I think it's possible," Faith said. "He was targeting members of the dogfighting ring, specifically members he saw as directly responsible for the deaths of the dogs. Since we broke up the ring, there's no one else out there killing dogs. Not in Atlanta anyway. Eric might consider the job done. He probably knows we're here, especially if he was following the dog fighting ring. So he knows we're looking for him. He could have decided not to be findable."

Michael tapped the edge of the desk and shook his head. "I don't think so. We didn't arrest everyone there. We got half the gangsters, but half of them escaped. Not all of them would have been directly involved with the dogs, but it's a good bet that some of them were. And the other organizers are among them. It's true that Eric's prioritizing people who directly caused dogs to die, but I don't think he'll stop there. I think he'll keep going until every member of the gang is wiped out."

"So who's he going after then?" Faith said.

Michael shook his head. "Therein lies the rub." Then his eyes widened. "Wait. I think I figured it out."

"What is it?" Faith asked.

"Francis Evans," Michael said, "the Evans part is obviously Robert Evans, but the Francis part threw me off. There isn't anyone named Francis that we know of in the gang."

"Okay," Faith said, "I'm not following."

"There's no one named Francis," Michael said, "but there is a Francisco."

Faith's eyes widened. "Francisco Jimenez."

"Gaucho," Michael confirmed. "He was the pit boss who arranged the meeting between me and the organizers. That's who Eric is going after next."

"Where is Gaucho?" Faith asked.

"No idea," Michael said.

Garvey returned to the office then. "All right," she said, "I have officers on their way back to Ciccolo's house."

"Good," Faith said, "tell them to look for anything that refers to a Francisco Jimenez or to Gaucho."

Garvey lifted an eyebrow. "You think he's going after Gaucho next?"

"I am almost certain of it," Faith said, "what's more, I'm almost certain that he's going after Gaucho as we speak."

"So how do we find him?" Garvey asked.

"I think I know someone who can help," Faith said.

***

"You guys are crazy if you think I'm going to help you," Roman said, jaw jutting defiantly forward as he faced the four of them.

Turk growled low in his throat, but Roman sat inside the holding cell protected by thick steel bars. He sneered at Turk and said, "I wish we could have seen you fight, little dog. Ceasar would have eaten you for breakfast."

"He's after Gaucho," Faith said.

"Who's after Gaucho?"

"The killer. He's hunting Gaucho right now, intending to kill him. So, we're here to make a new deal: you tell us where we can find Gaucho, and we'll keep our original bargain. We talk to the DA, recommend leniency, and point out how instrumental you were in finding the killer and bringing him to justice. Fifteen years turns to five, out in two on good behavior."

Roman sneered at them. "I thought I told you already, I don't talk unless I walk."

Garvey stepped ahead of Faith. "Let's clarify something, Roman. You don't have power here. The best you can do right now is make it easier for the murderer we're hunting to kill your comrades in arms. We'd rather you didn't, but the fact is we're not going to bend over backwards helping a gang leader serve less time so we can stop someone from killing other gangsters. We're doing you a favor , Roman. We're not begging for help. At best, you represent a chance to solve this case conveniently. We will solve it without you. In fact, we've already solved it. We're just apprehending our suspect. Again, though, we're not going to fight all that hard to convince you to help out your fellow gangsters. We'll just point out to the press that we tried to ask for your help, but you chose to let more of your friends die instead."

Roman glared at Garvey, but his shoulders deflated slightly. "You think you're so much better than me, don't you?"

"So much better that I have absolutely no interest in hearing your opinions to the contrary," Garvey said, "Now you can help us find the man we're looking for or you can rot in jail until you're old and gray. It's all the same to me."

Roman jutted his jaw out and stared at Garvey. After a moment, Garvey shrugged and said, "All right. Good luck in prison."

The three agents followed Garvey from the room. Just before Faith closed the door, Roman called, "Wait."

He sounded defeated, and when Faith turned and saw the dejection on his face, she knew they had won.