by Andrea Kane
* * *
Just after the morning rush hour, Investigative Detective Rick Jones of the New York State Police Department’s Bureau of Criminal Investigation was settling himself behind his desk when the phone rang.
“Jones,” he answered, simultaneously juggling the receiver and his foam cup of coffee so it didn’t spill over the mounds of paper on his desk.
“The girlfriend released a video on YouTube,” the voice at the other end of the phone informed him. “It spells out everything, including a photo of Everett and a plea for any news on him. The video was released at 6:30 a.m. It’s already had over a hundred thousand hits. There’s no getting away from it. Everett’s homicide is going to be in the headlines and the goddamn media will be up your ass.”
“What do you want me to do?” Jones asked.
“Pull the whole case file and work it.”
“What whole case file? It’s a couple of sheets of paper.”
“Beef up the file. Make the investigation you conducted look thorough. Backdate it. Get rid of anything that points to your passing off the case to the Coast Guard. The media’s going to be all over this. And that sucks for all of us. Is all that clear?”
“As glass.”
“Good. Now go do it—fast.”
* * *
Marc sat in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit waiting area, downing a cup of coffee and waiting for Amanda to come out.
When she did arrive, it was stiffly, with slow, weary steps. She pulled off her hospital mask, and she had the same weary expression on her face. “Hi,” she greeted Marc.
“Hi.” Marc took another slow, calm drink before setting down his cup on the end table. “How’s Justin?”
“The same.” Amanda sank down on the institutional sofa, her yellow paper hospital gown making a rustling sound as she did. “Oh.” She seemed to notice the gown and the mask for the first time. “I should have tossed these. I’ll need sterile ones when I go back in.” She dropped her face into her hands. “Why doesn’t the antibiotic work? Why won’t his fever come down?”
“It’s only been a day,” Marc soothed. “I know it feels like a lifetime. But it’s not. Give the medicine and your son some time to combat the infection.”
“And then what? There’ll be a new one?” Amanda looked up, the agony on her face too acute to miss. “He’s struggling so hard. And there’s not a damned thing I can do.”
“You certainly gave it your best shot last night.” Marc’s comment was pointed but gentle. The woman was unraveling. She’d reached out in desperation, clawing at a chance to find Paul. Sure, it had complicated their investigation. And it had almost melted Ryan’s precious server. But it’s not like their search was classified. And, as for the server, its load had been lifted. There were a bank of people at the office now, taking calls.
How furious could he be? It was her baby’s life at stake.
Amanda stared blankly at him, looking completely out of it. It was almost as if she had no clue what Marc was talking about. Then, comprehension dawned in her eyes. “You’re talking about the video.”
“Yup. Very impactful. Succinct, heart-wrenching, and great videography. You’ve got talented friends. Plus, you accomplished your goal. You captured the world’s attention. Hell, the number of YouTube hits are off the chart. And our server practically self-destructed from all the phone calls pouring in.”
“Are any of the calls worthwhile?” she asked, a plea in her voice. “Has anyone given you information on Paul?”
“No. So far, it’s been a lot of crank calls and reporters.” Marc leaned forward, held Amanda’s gaze. “Not your best idea. Grandstanding like that tends to bring out all the crazies. It wastes precious time and resources. Getting a worthwhile lead is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“I wasn’t grandstanding. I was using my contacts to reach as many people as possible.” She studied his face. “You’re angry. I’ll pay for any damage to your server.”
Marc almost laughed, just visualizing Ryan’s reaction to that statement. “Don’t worry about the server. It can take it. We also had to scramble to get a bunch of college kids into our office to field the phone calls.” A pause. “We’re not big on broadcasting our phone number round the globe. But then, you already knew that. You also knew we’d cut you off at the knees if we’d known your plan. That’s why you didn’t mention a word about your plan to Claire and Patrick.”
“You’re right.” Amanda licked her lips. “It was a calculated risk, but one I had to take. I knew it could backfire. I told Melissa so when she first suggested it. But then Justin got worse. And I had to try. I knew you might write me off as a client. But the idea of reaching so many people in one fell swoop—any one of whom might have seen Paul… I had to do it. I’m ready to ask my uncle to offer a reward for any information on Paul’s whereabouts.” She gave a resigned shrug. “In any case, if you’re the one assigned to ream me out or kick me to the curb, go for it.”
She looked like a small, broken bird, and Marc felt another huge wave of compassion. Emotion wasn’t normally his thing, and it felt weird to be reacting this way. But a child… no, not just a child, a newborn—talk about his Achilles’ heel.
Images of what he’d seen in years past—children being torn from their parents, sold like livestock, used as human shields, shot and killed before they’d even had a chance to live—those images flashed through his mind like some heinous movie. They’d never go away. They’d haunt him forever.
And here was a mother who’d lain down her life for her child. How could he berate her for that? If Justin survived, it would be his mother’s love and tenacity that made it happen.
Marc had taken Amanda’s case before talking to his team. It had been personal to him from the start. It still was.
“I’m not going to kick you to the curb,” he said. “I’m going to tell you not to act without talking to us first, because impulsive acts rarely pay off, and because you hired us to do the job and do it right. I’m going to tell you that we need you to help us, not impede us. And then I’m going to buy you a large orange juice and an egg sandwich. You need protein and electrolytes. You’re about to collapse.”
Amanda nodded. “You’re right—about everything. Clearly, my first instinct was the right one. I never should have jumped the gun without talking to you first. I’m sorry.”
“You might have been surprised by our reaction. We’re not big rule-followers. We could have found a better way to pull off that video—a more controversial one, actually. One that could have pushed all the necessary buttons—while probably pissing off some people in the process—but that didn’t put us in the limelight. We could have set up a special toll-free number for the incoming phone calls. So don’t sell us short. You hired us because we’re the best. So let us be the best.”
A weak smile. “Point taken. And, speaking of being the best, I never had a chance to thank you. I just found out that your whole team had yourselves tested as potential matches for Justin. That was incredibly kind.”
“It was something we chose to do,” Marc replied.
“Nonetheless, I’m grateful.” Amanda drew a slow, exhausted breath, then rose. “I’ll take you up on that OJ and those eggs. I’m feeling really shaky. And Justin needs me to be strong.”
“Agreed.” Marc glanced at his watch. “Let’s head down to the cafeteria. I can only stay a few minutes.”
“Ah. You drew the short straw and had to deal with me first, then head straight back to the office to do telephone damage control.”
“Nope.” As always, Marc went for the no-bullshit approach. “Like I said, the phones are under control now. Yeah, some of us are pissed. Especially Ryan, who got woken from his beauty sleep by Yoda reporting an overheating server. He’ll get over it. We all will. But Casey thought I’d be the easiest one for you to talk
to. And I’m not heading back to the office. I’m heading out to Southampton.”
“Southampton? Why?” Amanda looked startled, and then thoughtful. “Does this have something to do with your meeting last night with my uncle? Because I forgot all about it. How did things go? Did he ask you to come back and meet with the Town Board?”
Marc gestured toward the elevators. “Let’s get you fed. I’ll fill you in along the way.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
John Morano sat in his decrepit, run-down office and shoved aside the legal documents that Lyle Fenton’s attorney had drawn up. Frustrated, he rubbed his eyes, feeling the pressure deep in his gut. He popped two antacid tablets, washing them down with a bottle of water. He wished it were bourbon. But at 9:30 a.m. with an ugly confrontation about to occur, the last thing he needed was to have his faculties compromised.
He was taking a huge risk, and he knew it. Cutting off kickbacks to the Vizzinis could backfire big-time. They controlled the unions. Teamsters. Ironworkers. Even the service workers that would staff his hotel. As a result, they’d been controlling him. He couldn’t jeopardize this project, much less his life. But he couldn’t keep paying twenty grand every six weeks for nothing. There was only so far a dwindling cash balance could be stretched. And only so much manipulation he could successfully juggle.
He’d managed to get Fenton on board, which meant he’d get his permits—at a much steeper price than he expected. Talk about manipulation. Fenton’s rules. Fenton’s profits. Fenton’s investors.
And Fenton’s pressure.
Things were about to come to a head. And Morano had to keep his eye on the prize.
The door to his office swung open and Sal, the gruff workman aka slimy mob soldier who paid Morano collection visits, walked in. He was wearing jeans and a work vest, and he had his usual toolbox, although he wasn’t expecting to leave with it filled. It was weeks too soon for that. No, today was a different kind of scheduled visit, one that had been requested by Morano.
Sal shut the door behind him, grabbed himself a chair and sat down. He plunked the toolbox on the wooden floor and folded his arms across his chest. The fingers of his right hand brushed the top of his vest pocket, in close proximity to the gun that, no doubt, was concealed inside.
Morano intentionally avoided staring at the vest, instead fixing his gaze on Sal’s pockmarked face.
“What do you want?” Sal demanded.
“To renegotiate.” Morano got straight to the point, keeping his tone and his expression hard, his jaw set. “This time by my rules. We’re done. I’m finished paying. Tell your boss enough is enough. No more bullshit. I’m cutting ties. I’ve got other mouths to feed on this project. I’ve coughed up a fucking fortune to keep him happy. Time to move on.”
Sal’s dark eyes narrowed. “You’re making a huge mistake, Morano. You need us. And I don’t need to remind you what happened to Everett, do I?”
Morano went very still. “Is that a threat?”
“A threat?” Sal shrugged. “Call it a helpful suggestion from a concerned associate. What happened to Everett was an unfortunate coincidence. You’re not into unfortunate coincidences, are you?”
“No. But I’m also not into being bled dry. You got your pound of flesh—and then some. We’re more than even. I’m done with these visits. And I want the decks cleared for my project.”
“Not happening. And not smart,” Sal replied.
“Maybe not. But necessary.” Morano rose slowly, hands in front of him. “So that’s that. Now what? Do you plan on gunning me down?”
A crooked smile twisted Sal’s lips, as he, too, came to his feet. “Nope. I plan on delivering your message. I’m guessing you’ll be getting one in return.”
* * *
The parking lot outside Southampton Hospital’s brick building was crawling with press when the FI team drove in.
“Wow,” Casey commented drily. “Mercer’s whole PR department deserves a raise. The media here isn’t only from New York’s First Congressional District. It’s from all of Long Island, Queens and Manhattan. Which means the networks and cable will also pick it up.”
“Damn straight. And not just thanks to Mercer’s press office. All these reporters have probably seen Amanda’s video by now,” Marc reminded her, studying the crowd as Casey cruised along, looking for a parking space. “Mercer couldn’t ask for better publicity. The whole crowd is tweeting as they wait for his appearance. This altruistic act of his will be in everyone’s face in minutes.”
“How are we going to get close enough to him to accomplish anything?” Claire asked from the backseat of the van. “He’s going to have security around him when he arrives and when he leaves the hospital.”
“That’s not what our problem’s going to be,” Marc said with a frown. “FI is already on everyone’s computer screen as the go-to place for anybody with information on Paul Everett. We’re smack in the middle of this saga. The problem is going to be getting to Mercer without being bombarded by the media. Once they hear who we are, it’s all over. Not to mention Lyle Fenton, who’s sure to be showing up with Mercer. He’ll recognize us instantly and stand between us and the congressman.”
“Maybe we can pull this off without identifying ourselves.” Claire was thoughtful as she stroked Hero’s glossy neck. “At least not until we’re close enough to Mercer to keep our conversation private.”
Casey glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m listening.”
“You two are the only members of the team that Lyle Fenton has met. No one knows Hero or me. And we’ve both learned how to be very good actors. Right, Hero?”
Hero turned his soulful eyes on her and made a sound deep in his throat. Then he licked Claire’s hand, slobbering on her ski jacket. Clearly, he knew he was being discussed.
“I hate being stereotyped as the vapid, helpless blonde,” Claire continued. “But it can sometimes work to our advantage. When the congressman shows up and heads for the door, I’ll take Hero for a walk. I’ll issue the necessary command for him to lurch into high gear. We’ll practically crash into Mercer. I’ll act pathetic enough for his security to shift into at-ease position. Then I’ll quietly tell Mercer who I am and that we need to speak to him about that video after he and his wife donate their blood. If Fenton is with them, he won’t be happy, but he won’t freak out, because the video wasn’t on YouTube when you had your meeting last night. He’ll probably want to sit in on our chat with Mercer, but we can’t help that. At least it’ll gain us access without causing a riot.”
“Nice,” Marc praised. “And you’re right. Fenton won’t make a scene—and that’s true even if he is thrown by our talking to Mercer. He’ll be as eager as we are to keep the lid on who we are. The last thing he wants is a public spectacle—especially if that public spectacle shifts the limelight off Mercer.” Marc was nodding as he spoke. “It could work.”
“Okay, then let’s go for it.” Casey pulled into a parking space a good distance away and turned off the ignition. She glanced at her watch. “Mercer should be here any minute.”
As she spoke, Fenton’s private limo turned into the hospital parking lot.
“Go,” Casey urged Claire.
Claire leashed up Hero and was out of the car in a minute. They quickly crossed the parking lot, cutting through the rows of cars and reaching the hospital entrance at the same time as the limo did.
The limo stopped, and Fenton emerged, followed by Mercer and his wife, and two assigned security guards whose job it was to ward off the press and leave a clear path for the congressman to do what he’d come here to do.
Claire glanced down at Hero and issued a quiet command. Instantly, Hero bounded forward, nearly colliding with the congressman’s legs before Claire regained control of him.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said to Mercer, breathles
s and embarrassed. “My dog got startled by all the excitement. Heel, boy,” she instructed the bloodhound.
He sat down—but not before giving the congressman’s shoes a thorough sniff.
Mercer chuckled, patting Hero’s head. “No harm done. And you’ve got a pretty impressive dog. I wish my kids listened to me half as well.”
By this time, security had backed off and the press was moving in like vultures. So was Fenton, who was a half dozen steps away.
Claire turned her back to them all, Fenton included, so that the only people who could hear her were Mercer and his wife. “My name is Claire Hedgleigh and I’m part of Forensic Instincts,” she said in a low tone. “The team and I need to talk with you about the video Amanda Gleason just released. It’s important. We wanted to avoid a media frenzy. So we opted to approach you this way.”
Mercer looked momentarily surprised, but he recovered like a true politician. “I appreciate your discretion. I’ll arrange to have you and your team admitted through the back entrance of the hospital lobby. I’ll come find you right after I get my blood test.”
Claire nodded. “Thank you.” With that, she raised her voice to a normal level. “Again, I apologize, Congressman.” she said. “My overexuberant dog and I will get out of your way now.”
By this time, Fenton had walked around to join them, and she could feel his stare boring right through her. Talk about negative energy. It permeated the entirety of Fenton’s persona. She was not getting the same vibe from the congressman but, then again, this was all a first impression. Claire would have to spend more time around them.
She reversed her steps, half watching the congressman as he waved at the crowd and called out that he’d answer questions after he and his wife had finished up in the hospital lab.
