“This is why I didn’t want that girl in the field!”
Noah raised his eyebrow, biting back a more volatile retort. “‘That girl’? That girl just cracked our case wide open.”
“My office, Armstrong.”
Noah followed Slater and shut the door behind them. He stood at attention. He’d been a soldier for too long to blatantly disobey orders, but right now he wanted to be either working the case or checking on Lucy. He took responsibility for what happened. Lucy should never have been injured on the job. Not like this.
“Do you think she’s right?”
“About what?”
“That Wendy James was a prostitute.”
“There’s no hard evidence, but it fits with the information we have. The multiple affairs. The video recording room—”
Slater interrupted. “Which we have no confirmation was ever used by Wendy James or anyone else—it’s clean.”
“Which is another reason we need to find Ivy Harris and talk to her.”
Slater flipped through his e-mail, then opened Noah’s report. “You said Kincaid and Reid picked Harris up near Hawthorne Street and they were pursued by an unknown male in an unmarked dark blue van, wearing a Yankees cap.”
“Correct.”
“And how did Harris get out of the car?”
“She climbed out the shattered rear window and fled on foot. Lucy didn’t see an accomplice.”
“Doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.”
“Lucy thinks she was scared, that she didn’t know who was chasing her, and she was only concerned about her sister.”
“Sister?”
“Lucy said her name was ‘Mina.’ That’s from a neighbor on Hawthorne Street.”
“Stockton’s coming in any minute, you and Josh need to brief him on every detail. Curb your animosity toward Josh—”
“I’ve shown no animosity.”
“I was afraid that now—”
“He didn’t run Lucy off the road. Our divisions approach crimes differently. I hope that you’ll now give me the reins on this case. With Reid out of commission, we can’t afford to have DC turn this case over to someone else.”
“DC wants it. Their detective was shot. Shit, Noah, can you relax?”
Noah adjusted his stance, but didn’t sit down. “You need to make this happen, Matt. They can give me anyone they want, but it’s our case. Three similar crime scenes with a brief cooling-off period is textbook serial murderer.”
“Dr. Vigo said he wasn’t a psychopath.”
“I didn’t know one had to be a psychopath to be a serial killer.”
“Semantics.”
“We don’t know what Wendy James was doing in the apartment with the secret room, but we can make the case that she was killed because of her involvement in a federal crime, either as a witness or a perpetrator. It’s a working theory. We don’t have time to play inter-jurisdictional politics, sir.”
“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ How long have we been friends?”
“Since I was assigned here. Four years this October.”
“Exactly. It’s yours. I’ll make up something to appease the DC chief. Brief Stockton, I’ll talk to Josh. But he’s your partner on this, keep him in the loop. He’s already deep in all the finances.”
“That’s exactly what he should be doing. In fact, I want him focused on every individual and organization that leased an executive suite in the Park Way building. And the manager, Betty Dare. She’s been there for years, I can’t imagine that she didn’t suspect something with Wendy using the executive apartments. Maybe Wendy bribed her.”
“Talk to her—push her. See if she cracks. If she doesn’t, as soon as Stein gets even a hint of financial shenanigans, we can get a warrant for her finances as well. Right now, we only have a warrant for apartment seven-ten.”
“I have Miriam going through the records from Hawthorne Street and doing a complete background on Ivy Harris.” His phone vibrated. It was an unfamiliar local number.
“Agent Armstrong.”
“Hello?” The voice belonged to an elderly woman. “Hello, Agent Kincaid?”
“This is Agent Noah Armstrong. Who is this?”
“Hello, Agent Armstrong. My name is Patricia Neel,” the woman said slowly. “How are you?”
“We’re kind of busy here. Did you get this number from Ms. Kincaid?”
“The pretty dark-haired girl? Yes, she gave me this card. She wrote her number on the back, but I’ve been calling it and there’s no answer.”
“Can I help you with something?”
“I’ve been robbed.”
“That’s really a matter for the DC police.”
“Well,” Mrs. Neel said, “Agent Kincaid told me if I heard from any of the girls in the pictures, to call her.”
Noah straightened. “And have you?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. I went into my family room and the back door was open. It was when I heard all the sirens and I was worried. We get some of those gang kids running in the alley, so I locked the door. Then I noticed my picture was askew. My safe is behind the picture. I opened it and discovered my emergency fund is gone.”
“How much was in it?”
“Five thousand dollars in cash.”
“And who do you think took it?”
“She left me a note saying she’d pay it back when she was able. I don’t want to get her in trouble, but Agent Kincaid thinks she’s in danger.”
Noah squeezed his temples and forced his voice to remain polite. “Who?”
“Well, she didn’t sign it, but I recognized the writing. I’ll read you the note.
“‘Mrs. Neel, I’m so sorry to take your money, but we’re in serious trouble. I promise I will pay you back every dime as soon as I can. Thank you for your kindness. God bless you.’”
“And who wrote it?” he asked for the third time.
“Ivy Harris. Poor girl lost her house and everything in it Tuesday morning. I would have given her the money if she’d asked.”
Now he knew why Ivy Harris had been in the neighborhood earlier that day. “I’m sending an agent over to check your house and retrieve the note. Lock your doors, please.”
“Thank you for your concern, Agent Armstrong. Have a good day.”
Noah hung up. “Ivy Harris stole five thousand in cash from her neighbor. She could be anywhere by now.”
Slater slammed his desk drawer shut. “Shit. I’ll put pressure on that BOLO.”
“Make sure DC knows she’s a witness, not a suspect.”
“You don’t know that she’s not deep in this shit.”
“Lucy said she was terrified and worried about her sister. She might be reckless, but Lucy didn’t think she was dangerous.”
“Let’s get her in custody and decide then if she needs to be in jail or in a safe house.”
Noah left Slater’s office and was heading back to his desk in order to prepare for his meeting with Assistant Director Rick Stockton when he ran into the man himself in the hall.
They shook hands. “How are you, sir?” Noah asked.
“Could be better. We have an ID on the girl from the garage. Her name is Sara Edmonds, and she was reported missing ten days ago by her father. Reverend Kirk Edmonds.”
“The televangelist?”
“The one and the same. The Baltimore office showed him the picture and he positively identified her. He also identified the brunette.”
“Ivy Harris.”
“Wrong. Hannah Edmonds. His middle daughter, who he thought was dead.” Rick said. “Tell me you have her in custody.”
“No, sir.”
“He’ll be here in the morning. This is going to be a media nightmare.”
“Because his daughter ran away?”
“He says Hannah kidnapped Sara. He says she’s mentally unbalanced. When she was fourteen, she stopped taking doctor-prescribed antidepressants and threatened suicide. He thought she’d killed herself when he found her clothes
and blood in a car she stole.”
“What did the police say?”
“Same thing. The car was found near the lake, she was known to be suicidal, and her older sister found Hannah’s prescription bottle empty. Ten days ago, Sara disappeared in the middle of the night. Our people treated it as a kidnapping, but there were no clues—no trace evidence, no witnesses, no ransom note, nothing.”
Slater stepped out of his office. “I heard about that case. There was some speculation that she might have had a boyfriend?”
“Nothing confirmed,” Stockton said. “I have the local agent assigned to the case coming in with Reverend Edmonds. She’ll have more insight about the Edmonds family.”
“This changes everything,” Slater said.
Noah said, “We can’t assume anything in this case. We assumed there was no connection between the three murders, and now we know there is.”
“It’s a theory, Noah,” Slater said. “We have no hard evidence that links Wendy James to Ivy Harris or the other crime scene.”
Stockton said, “I’m very interested in these new developments, but we have a recent sighting of a missing minor, fourteen, who may be in danger, and that takes precedence over all else.”
“Understood,” Noah said.
“How’s Lucy?”
“She’ll be fine.”
“Good. Debrief her as soon as possible. She’s the only one who’s talked to Hannah Edmonds.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s get this done, I have ten minutes until the press conference.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sean walked into Senator Jonathon Paxton’s office in the Dirksen Building without an invitation or an appointment.
“Mr. Rogan,” the receptionist followed him. “Mr. Rogan, Senator Paxton’s in a meeting.”
Sean opened the door. Paxton was on the phone. “I’ll see you then, Agent Armstrong,” Paxton said and hung up.
“Tell me the truth,” Sean said.
The senator said to the receptionist, “It’s fine, Ann. Sean is working on a project for me. Let me know when Agent Armstrong arrives.”
Ann left, closing the door behind her, though the concern didn’t leave her face.
Paxton said, “Hello, Sean. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”
“Tell me about Ivy Harris.”
The senator narrowed his gaze. “Do I detect an implication in your tone that I have been less than truthful?”
“You’ll detect a hell of a lot more, and you’ll see it on the five o’clock news, if you don’t tell me the truth now.”
“Noah Armstrong informed me that Lucy was in a car accident. How is she?”
“Alive.”
“I don’t understand your hostility, Sean.”
“Stay away from Lucy.”
“What happened?” Paxton lost his fake politeness. “You come into my office with an accusatory tone and tell me to stay away from a friend?”
Sean barely resisted the urge to push Paxton up against the wall and pound the phony indignation off his face. His restraint came more from the fact that Paxton was twice his age than because he was a senator.
Sean glanced behind Paxton’s desk. There was a picture of Paxton and a young, dark-haired woman. Lucy? He stepped closer. No, it wasn’t Lucy. It was his daughter, Monique.
Sean walked around the large office, at the array of pictures on the walls and tables. He stopped in front of a framed photograph of Paxton and a much younger Lucy. She was about twenty, twenty-one—probably during her internship with the Judiciary Committee. Again, Sean was reminded that Paxton’s feelings about Lucy were complex. And, he considered, quite unhealthy.
“You realize your obsession with Lucy is sick.”
“I’m not obsessed, Rogan. I care about her. Yes, like a daughter. But I recognize that she’s not my daughter.”
“Three months ago you hired me to track down a woman named Ivy Harris, and now she’s in the middle of a murder investigation. She’s the reason Lucy was in the car crash today!”
Paxton seemed stunned. “I didn’t know—”
“Bull-fucking-shit!” Sean backed away from the wall of photos. Paxton had weaseled his way into Lucy’s life for years, and Sean had tried to understand, but now Paxton was using him. Something was off about the senator, and Sean wasn’t going to be party to whatever chess game he was playing.
“Don’t try to con me,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of work for you these last few months, and I learn you had me track down a girl who someone is trying to kill. Is it you? Did you put a hit on her?”
“That’s ludicrous!”
“Don’t lie to me, Paxton. I’m telling Lucy everything. She needs to find this girl.”
“I don’t know where she is. If you would listen—”
Sean was too angry to listen to anything Paxton had to say, though the security-trained portion of his brain told him to shut up and pay attention. He said, “You’re waiting for Noah Armstrong? I’ll wait with you. I’m sure he’d love to know that you’re withholding information in a federal investigation. Do you want Ivy Harris dead?”
“Of course not. Are you going to listen to me or just accuse me?”
“I like the accusing part.” Sean had to get his temper under control, but he couldn’t resist jabbing the senator.
“I cannot discuss this here. I will come by your house tonight, when you’ve calmed down.”
“Tell me now, or as soon as Noah shows up, I’m turning over my files on Ivy to him.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Read the fine print. If I find out that a client has used me to commit a felony or to cover up a felony, all investigative material can and will be turned over to the proper authorities. The FBI wants Ivy Harris, I have information that may help them find her.”
“They already know she’s Hannah Edmonds.”
That information threw Sean off-balance. He had the police file on Hannah Edmonds’s suicide. There was no reason to think she was alive, but there had been no pictures of the real Hannah Edmonds to run facial recognition. “She is Hannah Edmonds or she’s pretending to be Hannah Edmonds?”
“She is Hannah. The FBI is in the process of confirming the information, but I’ve been in communication with her. I know she’s Hannah.”
“How?”
“That’s not important.”
“Like hell it isn’t.”
“Noah’s coming here to talk about my former legislative staffer, Chris Taylor, who was murdered this morning, and specifically why Chris called me at eleven o’clock last night.”
“You already talked to the police—and Lucy. Or does Noah have evidence that you’re a lying prick?”
“You don’t know when to stop, do you?” Paxton was furious, but Sean detected his confidence was waning. He didn’t respond, just stared Paxton in the eye. Sean sat down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.
I’m not going anywhere, buddy.
“I’m being blackmailed,” the senator said in a low voice. “And if it gets out, not only will Lucy lose her job, the media will destroy her.”
Sean laughed, certain Paxton was bluffing, trying to scare him into leaving so he could lie to Noah and not be caught.
“You think I believe that?”
Paxton straightened and tilted his chin up defiantly. In a low, even, prideful tone, he said, “I killed Roger Morton.”
Sean kept his poker face on, and posture casual. He didn’t move from the couch. He could hardly move without wanting to hit something.
Lucy was right. Paxton had killed Morton.
Carefully, he said, “True or not, it doesn’t hurt Lucy.”
“She knew.”
Was he trying to pin it on her? Destroy her reputation? “Like hell she did. If you say a word, I’ll destroy you. You won’t know when or where or how, but if you hurt Lucy, you’re through.”
But she’d known. Maybe not with hard evidence, but her instincts had told her Pax
ton was a killer. She was right.
Paxton sat across from Sean.
“She didn’t know at the time,” Paxton admitted, “but she knows now. She’s an accessory after the fact. Lucy can’t lie. It’s why she’s avoided me all these months. When she figured out what I had done, she left me a note. That note is missing.”
Sean didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t imagine that Lucy would put anything incriminating in writing, or that she would keep Paxton’s guilt a secret from not only the FBI but also from Sean. Not if she had proof.
“You’re lying,” he said. But in his gut, he knew something was wrong. He remembered how Lucy had avoided eye contact at the hospital. What had he asked her? What had made her hedge?
What had Lucy not told him?
“When Adam Scott killed my daughter, he kept her locket as a sick reminder of his perversion. The reason Roger Morton came to Washington, DC, was to bring my contact a box of jewelry that he was led to believe was worth a small fortune. But the box was recovered by the FBI.
“Lucy recognized the items for what they were—the sick souvenirs of a cowardly bastard. Monetarily, they were worth next to nothing. Emotionally, they are priceless. She gave me Monique’s locket with a note. It read, ‘I know the truth. This belongs to you.’”
“That doesn’t incriminate you or her.” Sean couldn’t help but think he was missing something, but on the surface, those two sentences meant nothing.
“In context, it means everything. I need to find out who stole my locket. I need to know what the blackmailers know. If they’re jerking me around, or if they have inside information. The FBI already knows about Ivy, and I’m going to give them another important clue.”
Sean put his hands behind his neck to give them something to do other than strangle Paxton. “You’re playing a fucking game when five people are dead?”
“That had nothing to do with me.” Paxton pounded his fist on the desk. Sean had never seen him lose his temper so abruptly. “I couldn’t have stopped those murders! As soon as I found out that Chris and Jocelyn Taylor were murdered, I called Noah Armstrong. He’ll know everything I do—”
“Except that you hired me to do the background on Ivy Harris.”
“I had to verify her story.”
Sean didn’t know what to think or believe. Paxton was a manipulative bastard whose penchant for playing God now affected the woman he loved.
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