by Andrea Kane
“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.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Hamptons were quiet.
If this had been July, Montauk Highway would have been a parking lot, and getting through the bumper-to-bumper traffic would have been a nightmare of untold proportions. All the rich, beautiful people with summer “cottages”—a euphemism for multimillion-dollar estates—would have been heading out here to enjoy the Hamptons’s elite shopping, popular clubs and private beaches. They were the Citidiots, as the locals called Manhattanites—the semiannual residents who helped define the Hamptons as a finely manicured alternate world, a playground for the mega-rich.
But, thankfully, it wasn’t July. It was December, way off-season, and only the sparse population of full-time residents were out here. All the better for the Forensic Instincts team. No crowds, the ability to move faster and more productively, and fewer false leads. Besides, Amanda and Paul’s relationship had happened off-season. So this was the best way to recreate the scenario, witnesses and all.
Their first stop was Hampton Bays and the cottage Paul had rented.
Farther out on Long Island than Amanda’s Westhampton Beach apartment, Hampton Bays was a combination of modest and expensive homes, nestled between Westhampton and Southampton. Right now it was sleepy, strung with Christmas lights that would be beautiful after sunset, but one couldn’t help but imagine how hopping the place would be during the summer season. The beaches along the bay were beautiful, and it was a hop, skip and a jump to dining, shopping and nightlife.
The FI team had made a joint decision with Amanda to drive out to Paul’s cottage first, then forty-five minutes away, out to Lake Montauk and the spot where Paul’s car had been found. After these two site visits, they’d backtrack and stop at Amanda’s apartment on the way home. The reasoning was simple: Amanda and Paul had spent more time at his place than at hers. And since Lake Montauk was the crime scene, Casey and Marc could search the area from there to Gosman’s Dock, checking for anything the police had overlooked—assuming they’d really been looking. At the same time, Hero could learn Paul’s scent, and Claire could immerse herself in Paul’s surroundings and see if she picked up on his energy. Whatever personal items of his that Amanda had kept, particularly those with sentimental value, were at her place, and would be sifted through on the return trip.
Casey turned the van into the driveway leading to the cozy little cottage Paul had rented. She’d been watching the road most of the way with an occasional direction from Marc, who was eyeing the GPS. But Claire, who was sitting in the backseat, was finely attuned to the change in Amanda as they neared their destination. She got quieter and quieter, her fingers clasped so tightly together that her knuckles were white. And there was a pained, faraway look in her eyes. She was remembering. She clearly hadn’t been out here since Paul’s disappearance. And the waves of memory were overwhelming.
Gently, Claire put her hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Amanda gave a slight shake of her head. “Not really. I didn’t expect this to be so hard. And Montauk—I’m not even sure I can do it.”
“Yes, you can—you can do it for your son. Whatever time you need to compose yourself, to work through what you need to—just take it. We have plenty to keep us busy inside the cottage.”
“Thank you,” Amanda replied softly.
Marc glanced over his shoulder at Claire and scowled. She knew what he was thinking—that the clock was ticking and that Claire’s advice to Amanda to take her time was absurd. Claire gazed steadily back at him, conveying her certainty that this was the right way to go. If they pushed Amanda, they’d get less out of her. She needed to deal with her emotions. It was the only way this day trip was going to yield any results.
Reaching the top of the drive, Casey turned off the ignition and sat back, studying the small wood-shingled house with the rocking chair porch. It was a cottage in the truest sense, not the massive estates some of the wealthy locals referred to as their “summer cottages.” It couldn’t have more than two bedrooms and a bath, but it was perfect for a single guy whose career was based out here.
Even with the van’s windows only slightly cracked for Hero’s sake, you could smell the salty air, a sure indication that the bay was close by. A charming cottage, a good location—clearly, Paul Everett had been faring well.
“I can see why you and Paul spent most of your time here,” Casey said tactfully.
Amanda nodded. “The inside is lovely, too. And the place is well maintained, even though it’s fifty years old. Paul got lucky. The owner is a wealthy East Hampton guy who bought the cottage as an investment. He liked Paul. He rented it to him at a great price, especially because Paul wanted it year-round and not just as a summer vacation house. I think Paul would have eventually bought it if…” Amanda’s voice trailed off.
“Let’s go inside,” Marc suggested.
Amanda hesitated.
Casey glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Do you have cell reception?” she asked in a casual tone, as if she didn’t already know the answer.
Amanda glanced down at the phone that was perpetually on her lap or in her hand. “Yes.”
“Then why don’t you stay out here for a minute and check in with the hospital? The owner of the cottage told me he’d leave the door unlocked. Claire, Marc, Hero and I will get started while you get an update on Justin. Then, when you’re ready, you can join us.”
“I appreciate your compassion.” Amanda wasn’t just referring to Casey’s concern for Justin. She wasn’t stupid. She understood that the team was trying to give her the space she needed to prep herself for a painful walk down memory lane.
“No problem.” Casey’s gaze slid to Claire in the rearview mirror and she gave a quick nod.
All three team members climbed out. Marc went around back of the van and opened the double doors so that Hero could jump down and join them.
With a quick lap of his water, Hero scrambled to the gravel drive, waiting obediently while Marc leashed him up.
“All set?” Casey asked.
“Ready and raring to go.”
“Then let’s do it.”
* * *
Amanda watched the FI team head into the house—Paul’s house—and her throat tightened. How many times had she and Paul stepped through that door, sometimes toting grocery bags, sometimes laughing and talking, sometimes pulling off each other’s parkas in their haste to make love?
Being back here was surreal, like being plunged into a vivid, bittersweet memory and being forced, by one’s own mind, to relive it.
This was hitting her much harder than she’d expected. After all, she and Paul had been together less than half a year, no matter how intense their relationship had been. Amanda was far from a weak and clingy woman. She’d been on her own since college, and had loved the freedom of her own independence. Meeting Paul had been the last thing she’d expected. Yet it had happened, and, from the moment it did, she’d sensed that her life was about to be changed in a major way.
Losing him had been unbearable, especially after she realized she was carrying his child.
But she’d gotten through it and survived. Her life had gone on.
Except now there was Justin, a precious gift—but one who’d come with a reality she’d never imagined in her worst nightmares. And the unfathomable possibilities were staring her in the face.
So maybe it was the combination of Justin’s precarious health and her postpartum hormones that were making this walk down memory lane so painful.
Or maybe it was because she’d so successfully blocked out the happy times and allowed
them to be replaced by grief, anger, hurt and resentment.
Today was going to be one long confrontation with the past. More unnerving than that was the question of what their investigations would uncover. If Paul was alive, what kind of man had he really been? What had he been involved in that he’d kept so well hidden?
Squeezing her eyes shut for one long, aching minute, Amanda picked up her cell phone and snapped back into the real world—the one she’d been battling for almost a month now.
Justin.
She pressed the speed dial number for Sloane Kettering.
Please, God, she prayed, as she did every time she picked up the phone or walked back into the Pediatric BMT unit. Please let him hold on. Please let us find a miracle.
And, for good or for ill, that miracle had to be Paul.
* * *
Casey headed up the stone path that led to the cottage. She turned the knob, and, as promised, the door was unlocked.
The place was cozy and charming—one large and one small bedroom, a full bath, a galley kitchen, a little eating area and a family room with a brick fireplace. The back door opened to a wooden deck and a dense cluster of trees. Not exactly woods, but certainly the foliage offered privacy from probing eyes.
Hero immediately went to work, snout to the floor, dragging Marc every which way as he took in all the new and interesting scents. He zigzagged through the house, investigating every inch of his surroundings. Marc let him take the lead. The more comprehensive Hero’s olfactory experience was, the better it would be when Marc made scent pads of anything they found that belonged to Paul. Paul’s scent would be that much more recognizable to Hero, which could be a key factor down the road.
It wouldn’t be the first time Hero had lived up to his name.
“It’s a pretty secluded half acre,” Marc commented a short time later, standing on the deck beside Casey and gazing around. “No houses in back. Set back far enough from the road. And with lines of trees on either side that block the neighbors’ view. Interesting.”
