The Murder of Janessa Hennley Read Online Free PDF

else to do with them. “Um, no. I think they’re just renting a car.”
    “Did they actually say that, Janice, or are you guessing?”
    “Guessing.”
    “Okay, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them and see if they need me to pick them up.”
    Her computer was making a grinding noise. She hit it with her palm, and it stopped. After Googling the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, she checked for Mickey Parsons. There was nothing on the FBI site about him, but there was a number. She called it and the one she had called before but no one answered, so she left messages asking for a call back.
    Curious, she Googled his name.
    The first article that came up bore the headline: FBI’S ANGEL OF MERCY FORCED INTO DESK DUTY.
    She pulled out a small bag of pretzels from her desk and popped one in her mouth, then read the article. Apparently Mickey had been the top profiler for the unit before a controversial shooting nearly ended his career. He was cleared of any wrongdoing, but they’d still put him on desk duty afterward.
    The allegation was that he had shot a dying man as a mercy killing. A forensics team found evidence that the vi ctim was trying to kill Mickey with some sort of explosive device. Mickey’s comments about the incident were sealed.
    She flipped through a few more articles, all discussing Mickey’s career and the cases he had closed. He’d arrested a paranoid schizophrenic in Los Angeles who’d been kidnapping infants out of windows and strangling them. The man attempted to kill Mickey with a modified AR-16, and Mickey had just barely escaped with his life after shooting the man through the groin.
    Another article detailed a case he assisted on in South Africa. A politician there had been kidnapping and murdering prostitutes. Mickey came up with the profile of a black man, mid-thirties, and deformed in the upper torso, probably the arms or shoulders. When they finally arrested the man based on a tip from his brother, they saw that his left arm had been blown apart from a mine.
    Her phone rang , and she answered without looking at the ID.
    “Hello?”
    “Is this Sheriff Clay?”
    “Yes.”
    “This is Mickey Parsons again. I just saw I missed your call.”
    “Oh .” She put down her bag of pretzels and hurriedly chewed what was left in her mouth. “Oh, yeah. Hi. Um, well, I was calling to see if… Well, I was calling about something else, but now I wanted to see if you were the one coming out to help us.”
    “No, I’m not a field agent anymore. The Bureau will have one of the special agents in the unit assigned to your case.”
    “Oh,” she said . “I was kinda hoping it’d be you.”
    Silence for a moment. “I appreciate your confidence, but I haven’t been in the field for six years. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help.”
    “I mean, if that’s what you think is best. Oh, and I wanted to see if I needed to pick up whoever came out here from the airport.”
    “No, we’ll rent our own car.”
    “Okay.” A long pause. “Well, I guess that’s the only reason I called. You sure you aren’t gonna come out here?”
    “Sheriff, why would you care if it were me?”
    “I was trying to find your number and came across some stuff online, and I thought—”
    “Most of what’s written about me online is bullshit. I’m no different from any other agent here, and now I’m actually worse since I’ve been hitched to a desk for so long. Believe me, you’re better off with a younger man.”
    “Okay, if you say so. I don’t want to pressure you.”
    “If there’s nothing else, I have a few things to do here, Sheriff.”
    She ran her hand along the desk, wiping away a few crumbs. “No, that’s it. Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome. He’ll be out tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”
    “Thanks again.”
    As she hung up , she exhaled, then skimmed an article that said Mickey Parsons had the most closed cases in the Behavioral Science Unit of any special agent who had worked there.
    “Oh