Читать книгу The Line Between Here and Gone - Andrea Kane - Страница 9

Casey faced Amanda across a table in Sloane Kettering’s institutional cafeteria.

Amanda shifted in her chair, staring into her coffee cup and stirring furiously. She was waiting for a reaction from the head of Forensic Instincts. Just because Marc was fully invested didn’t mean the rest of the team would follow suit. And having Casey Woods fully on board was essential to the urgency with which they approached the case.

Casey alleviated her worries with just a few words.

“Marc made a compelling case,” she stated simply. “The whole team feels as strongly about your situation as he does. We started working on the investigation just after midnight.”

Amanda’s head shot up. “Then you’ll find Paul.” It was a statement, not a question, one that was rife with faith that Forensic Instincts would succeed.

“We’re going to determine if he’s alive,” Casey amended. “And if he is, my team will find him.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said gratefully.

She was an attractive woman, Casey noted. But she looked much older than her mid-thirties. She also looked dazed and battered, as if she’d been struck with a sledgehammer. The hell she was going through was unimaginable. Casey didn’t have children of her own, but that didn’t mean she was immune to Amanda’s pain. Having your newborn son’s life on the line, being helpless to keep him alive—Casey couldn’t fathom anything more excruciating for a new mother.

“I have to ask you a few questions,” she told Amanda gently. “I know your heart and mind are with your son. But the more help you can give us, the faster and more effectively we can do our job.”

Amanda nodded. “Ask me anything you want.”

“Tell me about you and Paul. Where and when you met. How the relationship progressed. Where things stood between you when he vanished. Anything the police said when they wrapped up the investigation into his possible death. How much you knew about his work, his friends, his business acquaintances. Any enemies he might have had. Any personal details that could explain his disappearing off the grid. Any reason you can think of that he’d be in Washington, D.C. Where he lived in the Hamptons and anything you can remember about his place—mementos, photos, anything that might reveal something more about him.”

“Wow.” Amanda blew out her breath, blinking at the deluge of questions Casey had just fired at her. “I assume Marc filled you in on what I told him and showed him?”

“He did. And some of what you tell me will be redundant. I realize that. But I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay. Paul and I met at a political fundraiser. There was chemistry from the start. We got involved pretty quickly, and we were together for five months. He was a real-estate developer. I never met any of his colleagues. I met a few of his friends, mostly neighbors near the house he rented and a couple of his poker buddies. Paul and I were pretty wrapped up in each other. Most of the time we spent together was alone.”

“So things were good right up until he vanished?”

A nod. “We hadn’t talked in a few days, which was unusual. I assumed it was because he was busy. We were supposed to have dinner that night. He never showed. I called his cell phone all night. Then I went to his house.”

“Which was where?”

“In Hampton Bays. It’s a small cottage, close to Tiana Bay. He rented it year-round. It was about twenty minutes from Westhampton Beach, where I live. He was working on some big real-estate development project in Southampton. We didn’t get into the details. But enemies? I can’t imagine anyone hating Paul. He was easygoing and charismatic. And I also can’t imagine why he’d disappear. Things were so good between us. And I never even got a chance to tell him about Justin.” Amanda’s voice quavered. “When I think that way, I’m sure he must be dead. Nothing else makes sense. But, on the other hand, where is his body? Why didn’t the Coast Guard ever turn up anything? It makes no sense.”

“The police dismissed the case,” Casey continued. “Did they leave any doors open?”

“They said they had nothing to go on. No suspects, no motives and no body.” Amanda took a quick gulp of her coffee. “As for D.C., your guess is as good as mine. Paul never mentioned any friends or relatives there. Could he have gotten a project there? Of course. But I have no way of knowing.”

“Okay, let’s get to Paul’s cottage. Do you know if it’s been rented out?”

“I don’t know,” Amanda replied, looking puzzled. “But what difference does that make? All his things are gone. I donated everything to charity except items that had sentimental value to me.”

“I’ll need to see those items. Also, I’ll need the name of Paul’s landlord.” Casey gave the simpler explanation first. “As for the house, I’d like to get permission to go inside. I don’t know whether or not you’re a believer, but Claire Hedgleigh, one of my team members, is a brilliant intuitive. She might pick up on something just from being in Paul’s surroundings—especially if no one’s lived there for the past eight months. And she’ll definitely have a shot at sensing something from the personal items you’re talking about.”

“You’re talking about a psychic.”

Casey’s lips curved. “Claire hates that term, but yes. A psychic. She was crucial to solving our last big case, and before she joined Forensic Instincts, she was tremendously successful working with law enforcement.”

“If she can help tell us if Paul’s alive and where he is, I’m all for it.”

“Good. Then you won’t balk at my next request. Last night when you spoke to Marc at the office, you met Hero. He’s another unconventional member of our team—a human scent evidence dog. Between sniffing out Paul’s place and sniffing the scent pads we’ll make from Paul’s personal things, he’ll be able to zero in on Paul’s presence within miles—if and when we get to that point. So, can you give me the information on Paul’s landlord? I’ll make a few phone calls and check the status of the cottage. Also, would you make a mental note of whatever mementos you have? We’ll drive out to the Hamptons together either later today or tomorrow, depending on when you can make arrangements to leave your son.”

Amanda shut her eyes for an instant. “Thank you for understanding,” she said simply. “My friend Melissa has offered to stay with him whenever I need to leave. And it’s not as if the hospital staff isn’t in constant contact with me. I just feel better when I’m close by. It’s not logical. It’s just being Justin’s mother.”

“I don’t blame you.” Casey pushed back her chair and rose. “You go to your son. I’ll call you as soon as we’re good to go.”

Ryan was leaning over his computer, deep in concentration, when Claire walked in.

“Where is everybody?” she asked.

“Ever hear of knocking?” Ryan’s gaze never left his monitor.

“Why? Is this a private sanctuary?”

“Actually, yeah, it is.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Then put a lock on the door. Or at least keep it shut.” She walked over to Hero, who’d jumped up from his nap the minute she walked in. He gazed at her hopefully, and with good reason. Claire was definitely the soft touch of the team, not only in her handling of the cases, but in her handling of Hero. Her sensitivity went right along with her pale blond hair, light gray eyes and willowy figure—not to mention the ethereal quality that emanated from her.

She didn’t have many buttons that set her off. But Ryan McKay was one of them.

Now Claire’s lips curved as she scratched Hero’s ears. The bloodhound’s gaze was locked on her.

“In my pocket,” she told him, reaching in and pulling out a piece of cheese. She offered it to him. He slurped it up and swallowed it in one bite.

“You’re a doormat,” Ryan noted. “And you’re going to put five pounds on him in less than a year.”

“It’s low-fat cheese. No harm, no foul.” Claire scanned the room, taking in the workout equipment, the vast array of computers, servers and network wires, and the centerpiece of the room: a long line of semicompleted robots—all surrounded by a pile of metal and plastic parts that were just waiting to be used.

“I wouldn’t worry about my touching anything in your precious basement,” she retorted. “I’d trip and kill myself if I tried. Plus, I don’t know what half this stuff is anyway. Especially your toy section. Robots were never my thing.”

“No, you’re more of a tarot card girl.”

Despite her vow to remain impervious to Ryan’s barbs, Claire grimaced. “You’re so narrow-minded, it’s sickening. And FYI, I don’t do tarot cards. Or Ouija boards.”

“Séances?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a boring psychic.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass.”

Ryan spun his chair around, leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. He looked disgustingly amused. “Nice comeback. Cold, too. I’m getting to you.”

Claire shot him a look. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then why’d you drop by? No one uses the basement but me. The conference room is two flights up.” He pointed at the ceiling.

“I know where it is.” Claire folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here because I got a call from Casey. She said we’re having a full team meeting. I went straight to the conference room. When no one was up there, I chose the obvious—you. You live in this cave. So, I came down to check and see if you knew anything.”

“Yup. A full team meeting it is. Casey called me, too.” Ryan glanced at his watch. “She’s on her way. So’s Patrick. And Marc’s in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee and probably eating my trail mix.”

“Fine. Then I’ll go up and wait.” Claire hesitated. “Did you find anything?”

Ignoring Claire’s question, Ryan leaned forward and pressed the print button on his computer. A handful of pages glided out. He strolled over and picked them up, perusing them as he did. “You’ll know when everyone else does,” he said at last.

Claire didn’t answer. Trying to reason with a preschooler was pointless. She just left the room and shut the door behind her with a firm click.

Ryan glanced up at the closed door, his lips curving into a lazy smile.

All humor was off ten minutes later as the team gathered around the conference room table.

“I met with Amanda Gleason,” Casey began, hands folded in front of her. “Marc was dead-on in his assessment. The woman is desperate. The situation is heartbreaking. Time is of the essence. And we’re going to save this baby at all costs.” She turned to Ryan. “What do you have for us?”

“Let’s start with my facial recognition software. I did a comparison of the guy in Amanda’s photos with the enhanced image of the guy in the cell phone picture. Using elastic bunch graph matching techniques and a cutting-edge sparse representation algorithm, I was able to determine…” Ryan glanced around at the table of blank faces. “Never mind the details. I’m ninety percent sure it’s the same guy.”

“Nice odds,” Marc commented.

“Yup. I’m willing to bet that Paul Everett is alive.”

“A fact that we’re not going to pass on to Amanda Gleason,” Casey informed them. “Not until we’ve ruled out the other ten percent.”

“Agreed.” Ryan nodded. “Moving on, I got in touch with a couple of Paul Everett’s former business associates. Lots of praise. No red flags.”

“So a dead end.”

“Nope. Now comes the interesting part. Marc got me some personal info from Amanda—Everett’s birthday, where he banked, a few key dates like when they first met—that kind of stuff. I did a little bit of strategic guesswork and a lot of poking around. It took me some time, but I managed to hack into the guy’s banking records.”

“And?” Casey perked up. She knew that tone of voice. It meant Ryan was leading up to something big.

“And Paul Everett had some hefty bank balances and some equally hefty withdrawals. The withdrawals followed a pattern. Same amount each time—twenty grand, and same time increments between withdrawals—six weeks. Interesting that this came at the same time that he was fighting for construction permits to upscale his dock operations into a waterfront luxury hotel. With all the amenities he planned and the close proximity to the new Shinnecock gambling casino, this would have been a gold mine.”

“Sounds like our guy was paying someone off to get what he wanted.” Marc stated the obvious.

“Sure does.”

“So he wasn’t so squeaky clean after all,” Patrick stated. After thirty-plus years as an FBI Special Agent, he was a no-bullshit guy who played by the rules—mostly—and called it like it was.

The playing-by-the-rules part was a huge rub at Forensic Instincts. But Patrick was good—very good. And, as he put it, he kept the team as close to “legal” as possible.

Now he pulled over his pad and started scribbling. “We’ve got two main possibilities here. Either Paul Everett was paying someone off like Marc said, or he was being blackmailed by someone who had dirt on him. Either one could get him killed or convince him to disappear.”

“So much for true love conquering all,” Claire murmured.

“Self-preservation trumps true love plus a whole lot more,” Ryan replied tersely. “And murder trumps everything. If I’m wrong—and I’m not—and Paul Everett’s at the bottom of the ocean, he didn’t exactly have a lot of choice about whether or not he hung around for Amanda.”

“I get that.” Claire looked thoughtful. “I wasn’t suggesting that Paul should have—or could have—stuck around. I was just wondering if the relationship between him and Amanda was even real, or if he was just using her as a cover for whatever he was involved in.”

“Good point.” Casey’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Claire. “Is that a random question or a feeling?”

“A random question. It’s way too soon for me to have a connection with any of this. I haven’t even met Amanda, much less gotten into her personal space or feelings.”

“That’s about to change.” Before she elaborated, Casey turned back to Ryan. “Anything else?”

“Yup. Much as I hate to admit it, Claire’s theory might have merit.” Ryan sounded as if he might choke on his words. “Amanda’s uncle is Lyle Fenton. He’s a business tycoon who also happens to serve on the Southampton Board of Trustees. If Everett wanted to score points with him in order to get his building permits, it could be why he hooked up with Amanda. The fundraiser they met at was for Congressman Clifford Mercer. Amanda was freelancing for the guy. Her uncle got her the job. Everett could have easily found that out and made a donation to the campaign. That would have gotten him an invite.”

“A congressman serves in Washington, D.C.,” Casey noted thoughtfully. “Marc, you called Amanda’s photographer friend, didn’t you?”

“Sure did.”

“Where exactly was that recent D.C. photo taken?”

“Second Street at C Street NE.”

“Which is just a little over half a mile from the Capitol Building.”

“And about a million other places,” Ryan reminded her. “Casey, that’s the business hub of D.C. It’s a leap to assume Paul Everett was going to see Mercer.”

“You’re right.” Marc’s brows drew together. “But it’s not out of the realm of possibility. Just because Everett vanished, doesn’t mean he’s given up on building that hotel. Like Ryan said, it’s a gold mine. With Everett’s ties to Amanda and her uncle severed, Mercer’s a shrewd and logical person to win over to his side. He represents District One. That includes the Hamptons. Maybe Everett is looking for a more influential—and long distance—way to get what he wants without tipping off the wrong people to the fact that he’s alive.”

“We’re all speculating.” Casey gulped the last of her coffee and set down the mug, mulling over a list of assignments she’d drawn up. “It’s time to act and find some answers. Here’s what I propose—Patrick, you go down to D.C. and see what you can dig up. If you’re down there for more than a day and have something solid to go on, one of us will join you. In the meantime, Claire, Marc and I are going on a field trip to the Hamptons with Amanda. We’re taking Hero with us.”

At the sound of his name, Hero’s head came up and he watched Casey attentively.

“We’ve got to search Paul’s place and make scent pads for Hero to sniff. We’ve also got to drive out to Montauk and visit the crime scene. On the way back, we’ll stop by Amanda’s apartment and get some personal items of Paul’s for Claire to work with, plus hit some of the spots that Paul and Amanda used to go together.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I went with Patrick to D.C.?” Marc asked. “Two former Bureau agents have twice the contacts and twice the resources.”

“Probably,” Casey conceded. “But I need you here for several reasons. Number one, you’ll make things happen.”

“In other words, he can break into houses and businesses, or question people under false pretenses,” Patrick put in wryly.

A grin tugged at Casey’s lips. “Actually, I have permission from the owner to search the house Paul rented. As for the rest—who knows what might come up? Another reason I need Marc here is because Amanda trusts him. For whatever reason, she is comfortable with him and turns to him for support. We need to use that to our advantage. This whole excursion to the Hamptons is going to have to be quick and productive. Amanda doesn’t want to be away from her baby for long, and I don’t blame her. So we leave in an hour. Ryan, you keep digging, and text me anything you find. Patrick, catch the first flight to D.C. Is everyone okay with that plan?”

“Yup.” Marc answered for all of them.

“Good. Then let’s make this thing happen.”