Chapter Twelve

"Agent Gallagher?" The tall, sixtyish man in the khakis and button-down blue shirt extended his hand, giving Mark an easy smile as they shook. "I'm Dr. Swift. What is it I can do for you?"

They were standing in an open reception area, hallways on two sides where a small group stood chatting. "I have some questions about someone who used to work here. Isaac Driscoll? Is there somewhere more private we can speak?" Mark was eager to talk to this man and to sit down in a place where he could make better note of his reactions—the man who had once worked closely with Isaac Driscoll.

"Isaac? Uh…I haven't heard his name mentioned in years." Dr. Swift appeared flustered for a brief moment. "But yes, of course. Please follow me."

Dr. Swift led him to a room down the hall with a whiteboard on one wall and, across from that, a long one-way mirror. It appeared that this was some sort of interview room, and when he asked, Dr. Swift said, "Yes. Project researchers use this room to observe subjects answering questions or relating to each other, reacting to things, etcetera, depending on the study."

"Ah," Mark said. He'd taken classes in social science when he was in school—which was a long time ago now—but was interested to hear exactly what was involved in the study aspect.

There was a large table in the center of the room with a pile of small white notebooks off to the side. "Is this okay?" Dr. Swift asked, pulling a chair out from the table and indicating one across from it.

"This is great, thanks," Mark answered, taking the seat across from the doctor.

Dr. Swift looked at him expectantly, lacing his fingers together on the table. He was a large man, and his shirt stretched tight over his wide shoulders, a button sitting on his stomach looking dangerously close to popping. "Isaac Driscoll retired…let's see"—he looked upward, obviously doing the math—"in two thousand two or three?"

Mark nodded. "Yes, I know it's been a while."

"What is this about, Agent? Is Isaac in some kind of trouble?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Isaac Driscoll was found dead two days ago."

Dr. Swift stared at him for a few moments, seemingly frozen with surprise. Finally, he blew out a long breath. " Found dead… How?"

"Murdered."

Dr. Swift's eyes widened. "Murdered? Isaac? How? Why?"

"We're still investigating the crime. I don't have many answers yet. I'm hoping you can shed some light on a few things."

Dr. Swift blew out another breath, running his hand through his black-and-gray-speckled hair, dramatic streaks of silver at his temples. "I can try. It's been a long time since I even talked to the man."

"What exactly did he do here at Rayform? His job title is listed as social researcher."

Dr. Swift nodded. "His job entailed collecting, analyzing, and interpreting data. The government was, and is, particularly interested in findings that might help change social policies or affect current ones. The applications are dependent on the purpose of the study."

"And are most of the studies conducted here funded by the government?"

"Most, yes, though some of the studies are funded by research grants or fellowships."

"Can you give me an example of a specific study Isaac worked on? I'm trying to get a better picture of who he was and why someone would want to harm him."

Dr. Swift looked off to the side in thought for a moment before answering. "I think the study he completed just before he retired was about poverty and criminal behavior, something along those lines. I don't remember the specifics, but I could probably look it up and email it to you."

"That'd be great. Thanks." Mark slid a business card across the table, and Dr. Swift took it, putting it in the breast pocket of his shirt. "What can you tell me about Dr. Driscoll on a personal level?"

"Overall he was a nice guy. He could be intense. A little…awkward at times maybe." He smiled. "What can I say? He was a researcher. We're not often known for our bubbly personalities." He frowned. "God, I can't believe…can't believe he's dead. Murdered." He looked back at Mark. "You don't think his death had anything to do with his work here, do you?"

"It's doubtful since he retired so long ago, but I'm still trying to see the big picture. Dr. Driscoll bought several thousand acres of land about twenty miles outside the nearest populated area. Do you have any idea why he would retire and move out to the middle of nowhere?"

Dr. Swift looked surprised for a moment and then thoughtful. He sighed. "From what I remember, Isaac grew increasingly pessimistic about people in general…society as a whole." He pressed his lips together for a moment. "I do remember him saying several times that he was ready to be done with people entirely, that animals behaved more rationally and in a way that would preserve their species as a whole rather than destroying it." Dr. Swift chuckled, though there wasn't much humor in it. "I thought he was mostly joking or just…venting. Although I have to say, I didn't completely disagree with the sentiment. It's easy to become cynical after studying societal downfalls year after year. Sometimes it feels like things never change."

Mark offered a wry smile. He didn't completely disagree with the sentiment either. He'd seen things in his line of work that made the idea of abandoning people entirely and living with wild animals sound appealing. People were hateful and cruel, vicious and underhanded. But…but they were also capable of selflessness and acts of deep love and grace. Mark had to remind himself of that often. And the fact was, people needed other people in order to hold on to their own humanity. He didn't need to be a social scientist to know that.

"So you think Isaac Driscoll may have bought land far away from society because the work he did caused him to disdain people in general?"

Dr. Swift released a long breath and rubbed at his eye with one finger. "I can't speak to his exact motives. Like I said, it's been a long time since I've spoken with him. But…it doesn't sound improbable to me."

Mark nodded, reaching into his pocket and bringing out the small notebook. Inside, he'd placed a printout of a still frame of Lucas as he'd waited in the holding cell a couple of days before. He unfolded the printout and handed it to Dr. Swift. "Do you recognize this man?"

Dr. Swift regarded the picture for several moments before shaking his head. "No. Who is he?"

"A man currently living on Driscoll's property. He says Driscoll allowed him to stay there after his parents abandoned him."

Dr. Swift sighed again. "That sounds like Isaac."

"How do you mean?"

"Isaac did a lot of volunteer work for social services programs. We did many studies on the foster care system—still do—and it was one of the areas of research that particularly bothered Isaac."

Mark nodded. "Understandable." The worse cases he'd worked on had involved kids. He could never desensitize himself to the idea of a child suffering in any way. And as far as Mark was concerned, if he ever did, that was the moment he'd know it was time to turn in his badge.

"What's interesting is that he allowed this man"—he pointed to the photo of Lucas still on the table—"to stay on his property when he was only a child but never alerted any authorities that he'd been abandoned."

Dr. Swift stared down at the photo of Lucas for a moment before meeting Mark's eyes. "Maybe to Isaac, the foster care system was a fate worse than living alone in the wilderness."

"Do you think it's possible he was really that far gone?"

Dr. Swift shrugged. "I'm only speculating."

Mark nodded, pulling another picture out of his notebook. "What about this woman? Have you seen her before?"

Dr. Swift looked at the photo of the woman who'd been found dead in the bed-and-breakfast, and his brow furrowed. Finally, he shook his head. "Not that I can recall."

Mark took the pictures from him, refolding them and returning both to his notebook before reaching across the table to shake Dr. Swift's hand. "Thank you for your time. Please, if you think of anything else that might shed light on this crime, give me a call. And my email address is on that card too if you'd be so kind as to forward me the results of the last study Driscoll was working on."

"Absolutely."

Mark turned to leave when he spotted a picture hung on the wall to the left of the door. He moved closer, studying it.

"The Battle of Thermopylae," Dr. Swift said, coming up beside him and looking at the picture.

Mark glanced at him. "This same picture is hung in Isaac Driscoll's house."

Dr. Swift looked at him, a small smile on his lips. "In fact, Isaac is the one who hung this here so many years ago." His smile grew. "Government buildings rarely invest in decorating, I'm afraid." He looked back at the picture as Mark removed his notebook and jotted down the battle the doctor had just named, spelling it to the best of his ability. He'd google it later. "Talk about a study in courage against overwhelming odds. And teamwork. The Spartans took the cake."

"Is that what Driscoll liked so much about them?" He must have admired that to hang the same picture at work and in his home. A rendering of what he wished society was despite what he considered daily proof that it was not? That it was worth the fight even if the odds were against you?

"Probably. They were a fascinating culture."

Mark gave the picture one last glance. "Thank you again, Doctor."

"You're welcome," Dr. Swift said, his eyes remaining on the battle in front of him.

He didn't look away as Mark turned and left the room.