Nina found our guy. She’d found a report of a single-vehicle accident that had claimed the life of Sean Townsend, a seventeen-year-old high school student who was smart, well-liked, and by all accounts, had a bright future ahead of him. Good in math and science, Sean was a star two-sport athlete at Mills High and had designs on attending MIT for computer science. But that bright future was cut short on a dark, drizzly night some twenty years ago, stolen by a group of rich, privileged children and their parents who covered it up.
Davis Townsend, Sean’s father, has a home in Arlington’s working-class neighborhood of Alcova Heights. Instead of storming the house in force, I had Mo and Paige park just up the street and drop anchor to watch the house for a bit. Something tells me because we’re in his endgame that he’s not actually there. I have a feeling he’s in a secondary location getting ready for his grand finale, so I didn’t want to waste a SWAT team’s time crashing an empty house. Plus, I don’t want the questions that would inevitably come with it.
“What do you think?” Astra asks.
“I think he’s long gone,” I reply. “He’s gearing up for the final showdown.”
“Then what are we doing here? Why aren’t we out looking for his secondary location?”
“Covering all our bases,” I tell her. “Plus, we may find something in that house that can point us to where his secondary location is.”
“With as careful as this guy is? Do you really think he’d leave something behind?”
I shrug. “A long shot—”
“Is better than no shot,” she finishes for me with a laugh.
We’re parked around the corner from the house, just waiting. Not only do I want to make sure Townsend is truly gone, we need to wait for our warrant to come in. As of the moment, we only have theories and are pretty light on evidence and probable cause. I have Nina talking to DD Church as we sit here asking her to twist some arms to get us the warrant we desperately need. Townsend is exceedingly careful, and my hope is that because he is so methodical and keeps everything so clean, he may have left something behind knowing he hasn’t given us probable cause to search his place. I’m hoping he felt safe, and in that sense of safety, he was careless.
I glance at my phone even though it hasn’t chimed. “Come on, come on.”
“A watched pot never boils, my friend.”
“Stuff it,” I say, making Astra laugh.
Shifting in my seat, I adjust my vest, trying to get comfortable beneath its weight. Leaning my back against the headrest, I close my eyes and go through the file on Townsend again. Fifty-two years old, he’s worked as a chemical engineer for WeberChem for the last twenty-five years, specializing in the development of chemical products used for pest control. It makes sense based on what we saw on the video with the rat. Townsend would have the expertise to develop a chemical that could do what he showed us. Thinking about him using that chemical, whatever it is, on those kids turns my stomach.
“It’s hard to not feel for the guy,” Astra says. “To not only go through that kind of loss, then see the ones who took your kid from you get away scot-free… it’s unimaginable.”
“It is. I can’t say I don’t understand his motives. I feel for the guy. But what he’s doing is monstrous. Those kids didn’t do anything to him or to his son,” I reply.
“It is. I’m not arguing that. I’m just saying the law failed him so completely, he’s got to feel like he has no other recourse.”
“I don’t disagree,” I tell her and mean it. “All the same, we have to bring him in.”
“I wish there was something we could do to set all this right. He shouldn’t have to feel this helpless and like this is his only choice.”
“I agree with you. All we can do, though, is our job.”
“Yeah.”
My phone chirps with an incoming message that makes my heart stutter. I quickly call up my messages and feel the corner of my mouth curl upward when I read the text from Nina.
“We’ve got our warrant,” I say.
“Let’s go to work.”
I start the engine and pull away from the curb, driving around the corner and down the street, pulling to a stop behind Mo and Paige’s vehicle. They meet us on the street.
“Anything?” I ask.
Paige shakes her head. “Nothing. We’ve seen absolutely no movement.”
“And his personal car isn’t here either,” Mo adds. “This guy isn’t here.”
“Let’s go have a look around then,” I tell them. “You two go around and make entry from the back. We’re going through the front door.”
“Copy that,” Mo says.
The street around us is a quiet, tree-lined street with homes that are all modest but nicely kept. As we cross the street, I see a couple of faces wearing fearful expressions peeking out at us from windows in homes that surround Townsend’s place. Obviously, seeing heavily armed federal agents isn’t a common sight in this neighborhood.
Moving quickly and cautiously, we ascend the three steps and land on the porch, taking up positions on either side of the front door, then I key my mic open.
“Mo?”
“In position. Waiting for an order to breach,” she replies.
“Copy that,” I say quietly. “Stand by.”
“Standing by.”
Astra gives me a nod as I reach out and bang on the door with the side of my fist and call out. “Federal agents, we have a search warrant.”
We wait for a full minute. Nothing happens, and we hear no movement inside, so I key my mic as I step into position.
“Breach,” I order. “Go, go, go.”
Raising my foot, I punch my foot forward with as much force as I can muster and am rewarded by the sound of wood cracking and metal hinges squealing. The door blows inward in a spray of splinters and screws, slamming into the wall behind it with a thunderous crash. The barrel of her M4 leading the way, Astra goes through the front door low and fast. From the rear of the house, I hear the door breaking inward as Mo calls out, identifying herself as a federal agent making entry into Townsend’s home.
