by Andrea Kane
Reminded, yet again, why she hated politics, Claire tightened her grip on Hero’s leash and jogged the remaining distance to the van.
“We’re all set,” she told Casey and Marc as she and Hero scrambled into the car. “Drive around back. Then let’s give it fifteen minutes. Mercer’s arranging for us to meet him in the back lobby.”
“Nice work,” Casey praised. “What did you tell him?”
“Only that we want to talk to him about the video. He got my point loud and clear. We’re in the hot seat and we want to know where he factors into that. He was relieved at the discreet way I approached it. That was all I said. The rest was all Hero. Who knew he was such a great actor?” Claire scratched Hero’s ears with a smile. “He not only played his part to perfection, he got a good, long sniff of the congressman. Good job, boy.” She reached into her pocket and offered him a treat, which he gobbled right up.
“Let’s talk about what we hope to accomplish in the five or ten minutes Mercer gives us.” Casey shifted the van into Reverse and backed out of the parking space. “We’re supposedly very upset about the video. We’re really looking to get a read on Congressman Mercer. But we’re not going on the attack. We’re looking to make Mercer an ally. That’ll put him at ease and keep Fenton from erupting.”
“Got it, boss,” Marc acknowledged drily. “This interview is about subtly figuring out if we think Mercer’s relationship with Fenton includes the disappearance of Paul Everett.”
“Right. And the way we do that is by sticking to questions about the video. We’ll confirm that Mercer has seen it. Then we’ll express our concern about the video not only putting us in the limelight, but putting Paul there, as well. We’ll explain that, if Paul is in hiding and doesn’t want to be found, this will only make him go further underground. We might even ask Mercer for his help in deflecting the attention off Paul and onto the baby. He can make a few public statements urging people to get tested, the way he did, to see if they’re a match. I’m sure he’ll agree to that.”
“And in the meantime, we can read between a lot of lines. Good agenda.” Marc gave a brief nod. “It all makes sense.”
“I want to hear the most from you, Claire,” Casey added. “Not necessarily during the meeting, but after. I want your take on both Mercer and Fenton. I want anything you pick up from them, insights or energy. And I want all our takes on the interaction between Mercer and Fenton. Patrick said they were stiff around each other. Let’s see if we share that perception. Are we all on the same page?”
“Sure are,” Marc replied.
“Absolutely,” Claire echoed.
* * *
Hero stayed in the van with the window cracked open while the rest of the team went inside the hospital. A middle-aged man whom Casey recognized as one of Mercer’s security guards walked right over to them.
“Please come with me,” he said. “The congressman is waiting to speak with you.”
He led them into a private office that clearly belonged to one of the hospital administrators, but which was now empty, save the congressman and Lyle Fenton.
“Congressman.” Casey shook his hand with a respectful smile, setting the relaxed tone of the meeting. “Thank you so much for seeing us.” A quick glance at Lyle. “Hello, Mr. Fenton. Nice to see you again.”
“Ms. Woods.” He gave a curt nod. “Cliff, this is Casey Woods, Marc Devereaux and…” His brows drew together quizzically.
“Claire Hedgleigh,” Mercer supplied with a smile of his own. “Yes, she and I met, along with her bloodhound. Not an easy duo to forget.”
Claire leaned forward and shook his hand, making the most of the personal contact. “Again, I apologize for the near collision. I just wanted to get to you without alerting the media.”
“No problem. I appreciate your discretion—and your creativity.” He shook Marc’s hand, as well. “Mr. Devereaux.”
“Congressman,” Marc replied. “Good to meet you. I hope we didn’t scare your wife off.”
“Not at all.” Mercer didn’t miss a beat. “I had her escorted back to the car. The last thing she needs is to sit through another one of my meetings.”
“Understood,” Marc said with a nod.
“Why don’t we all have a seat?” Mercer suggested. “And let’s skip the formalities. It takes way too long to say Congressman Mercer every time you address me. It’s Cliff.”
Casey sank into a chair. “And we’re Casey, Marc and Claire. You also met Hero. We’re all part of Forensic Instincts.”
“Yes, the name I’ve seen on every TV crew monitor I’ve walked past today.”
That took care of ensuring Mercer had seen the YouTube video.
“Exactly,” Casey confirmed, the smile vanishing from her face. “I’m sure you can understand how unhappy that video made us. We’re trying very hard to fly under the radar.” Another quick glance at Fenton. “I don’t know how much you’ve filled Cliff in on.”
Fenton looked as stiff as he had last night, and even more aloof after the tension generated by their conversation. “About your hunt for Paul Everett? Little to nothing. Cliff and I have been discussing Amanda and her baby. We both saw the video. Frankly, I was surprised you’d given Amanda permission to use your company as a contact point.”
“Actually, we didn’t. We didn’t even know about the video until this morning. We were as surprised as you were.” Casey carefully watched Fenton’s expression. His gaze was still averted from hers, but he didn’t fidget or exhibit any increased signs of uneasiness. Fine. He hadn’t known Amanda was making that video. No shocker there. It wasn’t part of his agenda. Very little Amanda did was—except saving her son. On the other hand, if, thanks to the video, Paul should crawl out of the woodwork, Fenton would be all over it like white on rice. So, if anything, Amanda had aided her uncle without realizing it.
Which meant he’d be sticking close to his niece—and keeping closer tabs on Forensic Instincts.
“This whole situation with Amanda and her baby is tragic,” Cliff Mercer said. “She’s a wonderful young woman, and a very talented photojournalist. She covered my campaign when I ran for reelection. My heart goes out to her.”
Mercer was setting the stage, beginning by letting them know he had a good relationship with Amanda Gleason—a working relationship.
“What you did for her today was a kind and generous thing,” Casey continued. “Not many public servants show that much compassion for one of their constituents.”
A shrug. “As I said, I know Amanda. I consider her a valued colleague. Plus, I had very little to do. Giving blood is something I do regularly anyway. In this case, it was even more essential. It’s a long shot that I’ll be a match. Lyle and I both know that. But maybe it will set a precedent for others to do the same.”
“That’s what we’re hoping,” Fenton added. “I was about to offer a reward to the person who wound up being a donor match. But Amanda is convinced that person will be Paul. Besides, Cliff’s gesture is much warmer and more personal than writing a check. I think it will touch people and make them take action.”
Casey wondered if they’d run lines together. This certainly seemed like a scripted performance.
“What can I do to help counter the impact of that video?” Mercer asked. “I could have the calls routed to my office, to take some of the burden off you.”
Right. And to make sure any leads went first to Fenton.
“That won’t be necessary, although we appreciate the offer,” Marc put in. “We’ve already put a bank of receptionists into place and routed the overflow to a call center we’ve hired. This way, we won’t miss any leads, but we’ll take the burden off our office.”
“Then how can I help?”
“We were hoping you could continue to draw attention to the importance of being tested to see if there’s a match for J
ustin,” Claire said in that gentle, sensitive tone of hers. “Maybe make a statement about that to the press. Shift the emphasis off finding Paul Everett to saving an infant’s life. That will ease the pressure off our investigation and onto Justin, where it belongs.”
Mercer looked puzzled. “I have no problem doing that. But why would you want to downplay the search for Justin’s father? Isn’t he the best hope for a donor match?”
“Yes,” Casey replied. “But he’s also a controversial figure right now. The circumstances of his disappearance—or what was presumed to be his death—means that something criminal went on. We need to find out if that criminal activity happened to Everett or was made to happen by Everett. Either way, the last thing we need to do is to alert the wrong people to the fact that he’s being hunted down by a professional investigative team.”
“I see your point.” Mercer nodded. “But hasn’t that ship sailed already?”
“To a point, yes, thanks to the first three or four hours during which time the video went viral. But we’ve already done damage control on that front. We’ve worked with Amanda and substituted the toll-free number for ours and eliminated our contact information from the video. So if you check out YouTube now, you’ll see a different message at the bottom. The phone calls and the connection to FI should start petering out.”
“I see.” Mercer’s gaze flickered ever so briefly to Fenton’s. “Then of course I’ll help you. I’ll issue statements to everyone out there, and send written statements to the rest of the press. I’ll also be on live TV in—” he checked his watch “—seventeen minutes. I’ll stress Justin’s predicament and I’ll have the stations air the toll-free number, if you give it to me.”
“Thank you so much, Cliff.” Claire was studying him as she spoke. “This could make all the difference in saving Justin’s life.”
“I hope so.” Mercer rose. “So unless there’s anything else?”
“Just one quick question,” Casey said swiftly. “Mr. Fenton told us you barely knew Paul Everett. So I realize there’s not much you can tell us. But it’s clear to me that you’re a good judge of character. When you met Everett, did you sense anything about him that made you uncomfortable or suspicious?”
Okay, it didn’t take a psychic to sense the tension in the room. Mercer cleared his throat and blinked a few times. And Lyle Fenton looked pissed as hell.
Mercer recovered first.
“As you said, I met Paul Everett once, maybe twice. He was an enthusiastic supporter, which explains why he was at the campaign party where he met Amanda. We were introduced, he spoke highly of me and my political platform, and that was it. He seemed friendly, personable and intelligent. That’s about all I can tell you. I didn’t sense anything off-putting about him. Then again, I doubt he’d show that side of himself to me if it existed. He wanted my support in the construction of his hotel.”
“That’s true.” Casey backed off as fast as she had started. She’d gotten what she needed. Now it was time to part friends. She never knew when they’d need to speak to Mercer again—as an ally or an adversary.
“I appreciate your time, Cliff,” she said. “We’ll leave the way we came. And thank you so much for helping us out.”
“My pleasure,” the congressman replied.
Hardly, Casey thought. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when we leave you and Fenton alone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Forensic Instincts team had just driven out of the hospital parking lot when Casey’s cell phone rang.
The caller ID flashed Unknown.
Glancing at the other occupants of the van, Casey pressed the button on her steering wheel.
“Casey Woods.”
“Ms. Woods, this is Detective Jones of the New York State Police’s Bureau of Criminal Investigation. I need to speak with you about the case you’re currently working on—the one that involves Paul Everett’s homicide.”
Casey slowed down the van and pulled over to the curb. “May I ask why, Detective?”
“I’d rather not get into details on the phone. When can I meet with you at your office? Time is of the essence.”
Casey could have told him that she was driving by his neck of the woods right there in Long Island. But she didn’t. “I’m out of the office right now,” she said instead. “I won’t be back for several hours.”
“I see.” Jones cleared his throat. He was dying to ask her where she was and why. Casey could sense it as clearly as if he had spoken. Just as she had a strong hunch that he knew exactly what she was working on.
“Would it be easier to meet outside the office?” she asked, intentionally letting him know it would be closer to his troop. “I assume you’re located in Suffolk County.”
“Yes, in Farmingdale.”
“Republic Airport?” Casey asked, specifying the headquarters of Troop L, which handled all of Nassau and Suffolk Counties.
“That’s right.”
“There’s a Starbucks nearby. Why don’t we meet there at…” She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. It was almost noon. “One-fifteen?”
“That would be fine.”
“See you then.”
* * *
The doorbell at the FI brownstone rang.
It struck Ryan that it had probably rung a bunch of times before it registered with him. He’d been staring at the computer screen, lost in his own world. But the insistence of the rings told him someone had been standing on the doorstep for quite a while.
He glanced up at the monitor above his desk and focused on the center window, which displayed the live feed from the video surveillance camera that protected the front door. A tall guy, whose powerful build and authoritative presence dominated the camera lens, stood outside. Ryan’s brows arched in surprise, and he rose, heading upstairs to the main level.
“Hang on,” he called out. “I’m coming.”
He punched the code on the Hirsch pad and opened the door. “Hey,” he greeted Hutch, gripping his hand in a guy-to-guy handshake. “What’s this—a surprise visit?”
“Nope.” Hutch walked in and dropped his bag on the floor. “Just a surprise arrival time. My flight got in early.”
“Good afternoon, Hutch,” Yoda chimed in. “Your body temperature is low. A coat is required in winter weather. You must not be wearing one. A cup of tea will restore your body temperature to a normal 98.6.”
“Thanks, Yoda,” Hutch responded. “I’ll take a hot shower instead.”
“A satisfactory cure.”
“What do you mean this isn’t a surprise visit?” Ryan interrupted. “Casey knew you were coming?”
“Yup. Since yesterday.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Nobody tells me anything.”
“I wouldn’t take it personally.” Hutch gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Considering how wound up Casey sounded when I talked to her on the phone, I’m guessing she’s obsessing over the case you’re working on. It sounds like a real house of cards.”
Again, Ryan’s brows rose. Casey was a stickler for not discussing ongoing cases, not even with Hutch. “She told you about it?”
“Not a chance. I just heard that intense note in her voice. So I looked up FI on Google just before I jumped on the plane to see if there was any new media buzzing around your company. And I found that YouTube video. Doesn’t sound like the kind of advertising you normally do. I’m guessing it was your client’s idea?”
“Oh, yeah. It came at us out of left field. Just ask Yoda. He woke me up right after I’d pulled an all-nighter. Our client almost fried my communications server.”
“That’s correct,” Yoda supplied.
“Anyway, it’s under control now. If you check out the video, you’ll see a change in contact info. Casey saw to that in a New York minute.�
�
“I’m sure she did.” Hutch’s lips twisted into a crooked grin—the only thing that ever softened his hard features. He looked every bit like the D.C. cop he’d been before joining the Bureau, right down to the jagged scar across his left temple. Despite his dry sense of humor, he was self-contained in a way that made most people squirm. He had a way of staring people down and waiting them out, staying silent until they felt compelled to speak. It was an asset in his professional life, and it spilled over into his personal life.
Hutch was very much an enigma. He kept his emotions in check and revealed very little of himself to others.
Casey was the exception to that rule.
“After Casey twisted your client’s arm to get FI’s name and number off that video, did she also ream her out?” Hutch asked.
Ryan shook his head. “She and I were too ripping pissed to deal with Amanda. Casey sent Marc over to the hospital to handle things. He has some magical, soothing effect on our client. She holds on to him like a life preserver.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you. Between that solid, calming way of Marc’s and his feelings about little ones with their lives on the line—he’d be your go-to guy with this client.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ryan stretched, getting the kinks out of his body. “I wish I could get into more detail with you. This case is really gut-wrenching.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“Some more than others.”
“I hear you.” Hutch’s sharp blue eyes swept the area. “I take it Casey’s not here.”
“Nope. Just me and my to-do list. Casey’s out working the case with Marc, Claire and Hero, and Patrick’s pounding the pavement. What time is she expecting you?”
“We have a dinner date. Till then, I’m on my own. Which is fine with me, because I’m beat. I slept a little on the plane, but not enough to make a difference. I think I’m going to crash in Casey’s room, and then take that shower so I can be human when she gets home.”
“Good plan. I’m taking a break myself. I’ll be heading over to the gym. I need a two-hour workout to get my brain in gear—but I’ll settle for one. The fallout from Yoda’s phone call robbed me of that second hour.”
