Читать книгу The Line Between Here and Gone - Andrea Kane - Страница 11

Patrick Lynch was very good at everything he did—whether it was as a private investigator, a security consultant or as an FBI agent, something he’d done for most of his life.

He’d worked for the Bureau for more than thirty-two years, starting in the days before the New York Field Office had moved to Federal Plaza and, instead, had occupied just several floors in a building on East Sixty-ninth Street and Third Avenue. He’d handled everything from white-collar crime to violent crime. Things had been so different back then—no computers, only shared telephones among the agents, and fewer, less-easily accessible resources.

But one thing hadn’t changed: Patrick worked within the letter of the law—always.

Consequently, he’d never expected to find himself part of a team like Forensic Instincts, whose methods were as different from his own as could be imagined. But events in life, especially the recent kidnapping case that had introduced Patrick to FI, had taught him that sometimes, sometimes, the end really did justify the means.

That didn’t mean he was ready to abandon his principles—only that he was willing to bend them a bit when it became absolutely necessary.

The team considered him to be the seasoned and steadying voice of reason at Forensic Instincts, the guy who played by the book and acted as the anchoring fist on the kite strings of the other team members. Patrick considered himself to be the guy who kept his colleagues out of jail.

But, hell, he respected their talents. And on the flip side, they respected his.

In this new case, Patrick felt totally comfortable with the first assignment Casey had given him. He knew D.C. like the back of his hand and his task was solid. He might not have Hero’s nose, but he was damned good at tracking down people.

He landed at Reagan National around noon and took a cab into D.C.’s Capitol District. Ryan had enlarged the mystery man’s photo on the computer, fine-tuning it as sharply as possible so the man’s image was clear, the background less blurry. The pictures of Amanda and Paul were close-ups and needed only minor tweaks to make their images crisp.

Patrick stood on the corner of Second Street and C Street NE, and glanced around. Just as he recalled. Government buildings, St. Joseph’s Church and throngs of people moving rapidly along. And that was just what was within line of sight. A short walk away there were a couple of coffee shops, a bagel place, a café and a supermarket. Farther on was Stanton Park, and north was Union Square Station.

He had lots of territory to cover. And nothing but a few photos and his gut instincts to go on.

One thing about the Hamptons. It literally shut down in the wintertime. The same applied to Montauk, which was at the far eastern tip of Long Island. Even the avid fishermen, who braved the cool autumn days to cast their lines, were long gone by December.

Although cars drove by it year-round, Lake Montauk was deserted when the team arrived. A stiff breeze had kicked up, reminding them all that it was nearly Christmas-time. And the chill in the air was accentuated by the proximity of the water.

“Here. Stop here,” Amanda told Casey as they rounded a bend on West Lake Drive.

Casey braked, bringing the van to a halt. “You’re sure?” she asked quietly.

Amanda scanned the lake before her gaze shifted back to the road. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll never forget this spot.” She swallowed hard, her face sheet-white. “Let’s get this over with.” She turned the door handle and stepped out of the van.

Casey and Marc exchanged quick glances.

“It’s the right spot.” Claire answered their unspoken question from the backseat. “There’s a dark aura of violence here. Something ugly happened within yards of where we are.” She opened her own door, brows drawn together as she stepped out. “The feeling is strong. And equally as complex as what I was feeling in Paul Everett’s house. So many conflicting emotions coming at me all at once.” She stayed where she was, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to zero in on something concrete.

“Do what you need to do. Marc, you and Hero do your thing, as well. I don’t want to leave Amanda alone.” Casey had already turned off the car and was out and moving. “This has got to be the most torturous part of her day. We’ve got to tread carefully in our questions and the depth of our interrogation.”

“Yes. We do,” Claire agreed.

Marc nodded, getting out and going around back to leash up Hero.

Amanda had walked a short distance away, then stopped, wrapping her arms around herself in an instinctive act of self-protection. She bowed her head, staring at the road. But Casey could tell that she wasn’t really seeing it. She was seeing Paul’s car, the driver’s seat covered in blood, and the nightmarish hour that had followed.

“Hey.” Casey came up behind Amanda, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now. I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

“So am I. But it has to be done.” Amanda’s chin came up as she steeled herself. “It’s an odd combination of emotions. Some of it’s cutting pain. Some of it’s anger and resentment. Obviously, that’s justified if Paul’s still alive. But even if he’s dead—the feelings are the same. If someone drove all the way out here just to kill him, there had to be reasons for it. And Paul clearly agreed to the meeting. So how could he have not played some part in getting himself killed? He had to be involved in something illegal. I loved him, but I guess I never knew him. And Justin…” She drew a slow, shaky breath. “I realize Paul had no idea I was pregnant. Still, I blame him for not being here when Justin needs him. I guess that’s irrational.”

“No, it’s human.” Casey’s reply was filled with conviction. “Paul’s death was a life crisis. Justin’s illness is a bigger one. Your emotions might be all over the place, but every one of them is justified. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Thanks.” Amanda glanced behind her as the sound of approaching footsteps announced Claire’s arrival.

“Do you need more time alone?” Claire asked, scanning the area. She gazed past the tree-lined street, down to the water. The lake was rough, the waves keeping pace with the wind, slapping the sand with the impact that announced winter’s impending arrival.

Amanda shook her head. “I need resolution.”

“Then let’s get it.” Casey gestured around. “Describe everything you remember in the order it happened.”

“I got a call from the police reporting that they had found Paul’s car and where. They asked me to meet them. I raced out here like a lunatic.” Amanda’s tone was flat, as if she were replaying a scene she’d long since memorized. “I knew the car was Paul’s. I saw the license plate as I drove up. And I saw a few personal things—his sunglasses case, the peppermint candies he kept in his cup holder and the suction-cup heart I’d given him was stuck on his dashboard.”

“So you identified the car to the police.”

“Yes.”

“A Mercedes SL63 AMG convertible,” Casey stated. “That’s quite a car.”

“Paul was a successful real-estate developer. That much, at least, he told me. Then again, I guess he couldn’t lie when he was driving a hundred-thousand-dollar car.”

“True.” Casey refrained from making a judgmental comment. “Real-estate development can be very lucrative, if the developer is smart and lucky. So let’s skip that part. Go on.”

“The door to the driver’s side was wide-open. There was blood all over the seat and on the windshield.”

“How much blood?”

“Enough to convince the cops that Paul was dead. It was written all over their faces.”

“According to the police report, they found tracks leading from the car. Is that why they wrote off the lake as a potential place for the body to have been dumped?”

A nod. “They did drag the lake. But the bloody tracks were pretty convincing. They headed north, up the west side of the lake toward Gosman’s Dock. The theory was that Paul had been dragged to another car and driven up to Gosman’s Dock, where he was dumped into the water.”

“That’s quite a supposition. I get the other car part. But what convinced them he was dumped into the water?”

“The proximity of Gosman’s Dock. The fact that there’s an open inlet between the jetties there that leads from Block Island Sound out to the ocean. The fact that high tide last April occurred in the middle of the night, which would make it possible for the body to be carried away by the tide… to the ocean—” Amanda’s voice quavered “—and the sharks. The fact that the killer chose Lake Montauk for the meeting. And, most of all, the fact that there was no body.”

“All compelling evidence. Still, a lot of supposition. They didn’t investigate further?”

Amanda sighed. “They did. But most of the work fell to the Coast Guard. No body turned up. Not in the ocean or anywhere else. Meanwhile, there was no tangible proof that Paul was alive or that he was dead. The amount of blood on the car seat spoke volumes, but there were no suspects, no motive and no body. After a few weeks, maybe a month, there was no way the cops could justify pouring any more resources into the search. So that was it.”

“What about you?” Claire asked, tucking a strand of pale blowing hair behind her ear. “What did your gut instincts tell you?”

A shrug. “My instincts? They were clouded by my emotions. I’m not even sure I knew Paul at all. So how could I trust myself?”

At that moment, Marc and Hero made their way over. Hero circled the section of road right around the women, then sat down and gazed directly at them. He emphasized his point with a bark.

“You’re right about the spot where this happened,” Marc noted. “I found an old T-shirt and a bath towel back at the cottage. I made some scent pads and let Hero sniff them. He’s picking up the same smells here. I’m sure dozens of people have been by this spot since, but Paul was definitely here at some point.” Marc stroked Hero’s head and gave him a treat. “Unfortunately, that gives us nothing we didn’t already have—except confirmation that Hero is finely tuned to Paul’s scent. Which is a huge plus. It could be significant when we need it.”

Casey nodded her agreement. Then she turned to gaze quizzically at Claire. “Anything?”

Claire was still looking around. A subtle but odd expression—different from the one she’d displayed earlier—flickered across her face. This expression was so fleeting that no one but Casey would notice. But Casey did notice. She also noticed that whatever it signified was, evidently, not something Claire wanted to explain.

Instead, Claire spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “There’s way too much energy coming at me to pinpoint something exact. So many people have been here, which means an onslaught of sensitizers. Even violence, which is a powerful force, isn’t enough to crystallize into something tangible. I got nothing off Paul’s towel and T-shirt. Maybe if I could hold one of the personal items Amanda described it would make a difference. But as things stand…”

“I have the suction-cup heart at my place,” Amanda interrupted. “It’s one of the things I kept. Foolish sentimental value, I guess.”

“Maybe important sentimental value,” Casey amended. “I’ve seen Claire get something off a personal object more readily when she’s actually been in a place where that object mattered.”

“That’s sometimes true,” Claire acknowledged. “It’s far from a guarantee. But now that I’ve stood at the crime scene, I need to hold that memento. If it’s something Paul had a strong attachment to, I might sense something. Might,” she stressed. She glanced down toward the lake, and that recent odd expression reappeared, then vanished. Something new was clearly bugging her.

“Can we leave now?” Amanda asked. Her voice and body language were tense, and she looked away from the crime scene, pained by the memories, compelled by something stronger. She looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. I don’t want to leave Justin any longer than is absolutely necessary. And we still have to drive back to Westhampton Beach and go through my apartment.”

“Okay.” Casey had a lot more to ask, wanting to urge Amanda to recall while she stood on the spot where she’d learned of Paul’s alleged death. But the woman had had enough. And the visit to her apartment was imperative. So they had to go—for now.

The ring tone on Casey’s BlackBerry sounded. She pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID.

Ryan.

“You go on ahead,” Casey told the group. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

She waited, watching as they walked away. Instinctively, Amanda positioned herself beside Marc. There was no doubt that she found comfort in his presence. It could be because he was the first team member she’d connected with, and the one who’d listened to her heartbreaking situation and agreed to take on her case. Then again, Marc had that same reassuring effect on everyone—except the offenders he went after. They shook in their boots when he approached with that killer look in his eyes and that lethal Navy SEAL presence.

Casey’s BlackBerry continued to ring. She was about to answer it when she saw Claire pause, her chin up as her troubled stare scanned the periphery of the lake. A moment later, she reluctantly turned away and followed Marc, Amanda and Hero back to the van.

Making a mental note to question her when they were alone, Casey put her BlackBerry to her ear. “Hey,” she greeted Ryan. “Do you have something for me?”

“Don’t I always?”

A hint of a smile tugged at Casey’s lips. There was nothing like Ryan’s cockiness to add some levity to a tense situation. “Yes, wise-ass. What’s up?”

“A lot. Let’s start with the project Paul Everett was involved in when he vanished—building that mega luxury hotel. Apparently someone bought the land and took over the project a month or so after Paul’s disappearance.”

“A colleague of his?”

“Nope. A developer who paid an arm and a leg for the land and the construction plans. I can’t find a single connection between the two men—except for their insight into how awesome a concept this is. And, believe me, I dug. Deep.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Casey replied. “Too bad. It would be a huge lead if there was some link between the developers.”

“Tell me about it. But that’s a dead end. Anyway, the Shinnecock Indians had just finished building the casino on land adjacent to their Hamptons reservation. It was being advertised big-time, and business was booming. Long before that, the local inns had waiting lists a mile long. Now there’s not enough room to accommodate all the additional patrons who want to shop and gamble at the casino.”

“So a luxury hotel on Shinnecock Bay would be a major windfall for the developer.” Casey stated the obvious. “We already knew that.”

“We also knew what a perfect spot for the hotel Paul had picked. He bought that run-of-the-mill wharf and marina for a steal. The fishing industry is hurting. The old-timer who owned the property was thrilled to unload the place—along with the fifty acres of undeveloped land that came with it. It was a gold mine, right down to the ready-made port. No one was being cut out. Any fishermen who still wanted to dock there were welcome. But they were no longer the priority. The plan was to expand the wharf and the docks, bulldoze the wooded land and tear down the shack of an office Paul was using to make way for the hotel. A dredging company would then do their thing—dig a deeper trench on the ocean floor and widen the channel so that large passenger ferries and private yachts could pass through. The ferry service would travel from Manhattan to Shinnecock Bay, along with hundreds of tourists.”

“They could reach their hotel in a fraction of the time it would take to battle the highways by car.” Casey considered the ramifications of that. “We’re talking about a massive undertaking. Paul would have needed all kinds of permits, cooperation from the town of Southampton, and the right construction companies.”

“Yup, although we already knew that. Here’s something we didn’t know. Paul was still working on the permits and the town’s cooperation. But as for the construction companies, he was already lining them up at the time when he either took off or died. All of them are legitimate. Most of them jumped at the chance to be part of this moneymaker. Except for one holdback—the dredging company. Because of the company’s strong rep, Paul was still working on them for a commitment. Still, it was an interesting choice of companies, as it turns out. Way too coincidental.”

There was that ta-da note in Ryan’s voice again. Whatever he was going to say next was going to be a biggie.

Casey waited expectantly.

“Fenton Dredging. Name ring a bell?”

“Fenton. Lyle Fenton?” Casey asked in surprise.

“None other. Major business tycoon who owns a pretty substantial empire. The dredging company’s just one arm of it. Plus, as I mentioned before, he’s also on the Southampton Board of Trustees. And, most significant of all, he’s Amanda Gleason’s uncle. His spot on the Board of Trustees didn’t seem relevant before. It sure as hell does now.”

Casey pursed her lips. “No way that’s a coincidence. When did Fenton and Paul start doing business together?”

“They didn’t. Not until Paul started pressing Fenton to take the dredging job. Fenton was holding back. I don’t know why. It sure as hell wasn’t due to a low margin. He had to know he’d make a killing from this deal.”

“You think that’s who Paul was paying off?”

“Could be. On the other hand, Fenton’s a pretty prominent guy. And a rich one. Would he risk exposure just for some drop-in-the-bucket payoffs? Sounds like a dumb idea to me.”

“I agree. So let’s take another approach. If Paul needed Fenton’s cooperation, maybe that’s why he made it his business to meet and get close to Amanda. Maybe he was hoping that a relationship with her would tip the scales in his favor.”

“Now that makes sense.”

Casey dragged a hand through her hair, which was whipping around from the wind. “Let’s get back to the guy who took over Paul’s project. Who is he and what’s his deal?”

“His name’s John Morano. He’s a well-established real-estate developer with even more resources than Paul. He got wind of the opportunity Paul’s death had opened up and he jumped on it, purchasing the property with a preemptive offer to Everett’s estate.”

“And is he moving ahead with the same contractors as Paul?”

“Seems like it. The important thing is, Fenton’s still a holdout. I don’t know what the deal is with this guy, but he has some kind of agenda. Cash, power, who knows? But he wants something to agree to do the job.”

“Damn.” Casey glanced at the van, where Amanda was seated in the rear, her posture stiff at she anxiously studied her watch. “We need more time out here. We have to talk to Morano, interview Fenton and talk to the other contractors Paul was dealing with. Not to mention we haven’t visited any of the places where Amanda and Paul hung out together, nor have we questioned Paul’s neighbors and poker buddies. But right now we don’t have time for any of it. Amanda’s jumping out of her skin. She called the hospital, and the baby’s temperature is up. We’re lucky she agreed to stop at her apartment before heading back to the city.”

“Poor kid. So what do you want to do?”

“Leave Marc behind to work his magic. I’ll bring Hero home with us. He’ll have completed his job out here. So will Claire.”

“Hero? Yes. Claire? Iffy. Paul might have left some boxers there for her to commune with.”

“Ryan.” There was a cut-it-out note in Casey’s voice.

“Okay, okay.” The clicking sound meant that Ryan was back on his keyboard. “I’ll get all the names and addresses I can. I’ll text them to Marc. If anyone can get maximum info in minimum time, it’s him. I’ll check into Fenton’s schedule. He shoots back and forth from the Hamptons to Manhattan.” A pause. “Interesting. He’s meeting with Congressman Mercer in D.C. tomorrow morning.”

Casey didn’t even question how Ryan had tapped into Fenton’s schedule so quickly. “Perfect. That’s who we originally thought was Paul’s target to get the support he needed. Now we have both men in the same place at the same time. Find out where Mercer likes to eat lunch.”

“Likes to eat lunch? I’ll find out where they’re eating lunch and what time.”

“Of course you will.” Casey smiled. “After that, text Patrick. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone and give Marc more breathing room to talk to the rest of the people on the list. I don’t want him gone for more than another day. I need him home, and so does Amanda. Of the whole team, she leans on him the most.”

“I know. And he’ll get to see every one of the names I send any way he has to.”

No elaboration was necessary. They both knew what that meant.

“Let me get back to the van,” Casey said. “Text me whatever I need to know. Send the rest directly to Patrick and Marc. The fact that the baby’s fever is up means we have less time and more pressure.”

“On it, boss.”