“I assume the FBI doesn’t send agents to extend thoughts and prayers, so what can I do for you, Special Agent Keller?”
“Please, call me Sarah,” she says. “I have some questions if you’re up for it?”
Chris nods for her to continue.
“I know it’s been a long time, but I want to talk about the last time you saw your mom.”
He looks away, stares at the muted television mounted on the wall, and nods again.
“Tell me about the last time you saw her.”
“Air Bud.”
“Pardon?”
“We watched the movie Air Bud. It’s about a dog who can play basketball.” Chris continues looking at the television.
“When was that?”
“I was ten, so 1997.”
“Is there a reason you remember it so clearly?”
“Yeah, because I went to school the next day and never saw her again,” he says, a little edge in his tone.
Fair enough. It was a stupid question.
“Actually,” Chris says, his voice softer, “I remember because I had a big math test the next day and was I worried about it. She told me that relaxing, doing something fun, before a test would help way more than cramming.”
“Good advice.”
“It got me through law school.”
“That’s the last time you saw her?”
He nods. “The next day, I rushed home to show her the A I got on the test, and she was gone.”
“Where did you think she went?”
“He told me she’d run off with someone. It wasn’t hard to believe if you’ve met my biological father.”
Keller nods. “I arrested him.”
Chris nods like he knows this already.
“How about your brother? When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Ah, the real reason for your visit.”
Keller makes no reply.
Chris starts to say something but seems to change his mind. “The last time I saw Vince was the day they released him for insufficient probable cause.”
“And what do you remember?”
“It was late. I’d already gone to bed. But I heard voices in the living room, so I got up, hoping it was him. He’d been arrested and I didn’t understand what was going on.”
“And what happened?”
“I remember coming out of my room, but he had some customers there. He sold pot. He was small-time, dime bags, mostly to high school kids. Anyway, he was stern with me, told me to go to bed.”
“Was he always like that with you?”
“No, almost never. You may not believe it, but he’s a gentle guy.”
Keller tries to keep her expression neutral, like she might believe him, might not.
“But that night,” Chris continues, “my dad was there, so the customers were probably friends of his. And one of the customers, an older guy, was acting weird, twitchy. I’m guessing Vince didn’t want me exposed to that crowd. So I went to bed.”
“That’s the last time you saw him?”
“When I got up in the morning he was gone.”
“Have you had any contact with your brother since then?”
“None.”
She gives him a skeptical look.
“Trust me, I’d love to talk to him.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m a lawyer and I can help him now.”
Keller offers a compassionate smile. This young man has been through a lot.
Chris adds, “They let him go for insufficient evidence. Even now, the only evidence they have is an anonymous tip and a knife conveniently found in his locker after his release. My brother may have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He never would’ve left a murder weapon in his own locker.”
They also have Vince’s fingerprint placing him at the scene, but Keller doesn’t say that. And Chris is right, the case against his brother has some holes. One of Keller’s instructors at Quantico always said that MOM is the key to any criminal investigation—motive, opportunity, and means. Atticus has questioned the “opportunity” since there’s evidence that Vince Whitaker was home at ten when the video store closed and that his father had the car that night. For Keller, though, it’s the “motive” that’s troubling her. Why kill all of the employees?
“You have any idea where he is?” she asks.
Chris hesitates. “I don’t know where he is currently.”
Keller notes the careful wording, holds his gaze. “But you have an idea?”