“I thought I heard voices in here,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the Hamptons?”
The Hamptons. Alex’s birthday party. The wedding and honeymoon. It all felt like a dream now. “You didn’t hear?” Laurie asked.
Ryan’s smile suddenly fell with the tone of Laurie’s voice. “You broke up?”
Jerry groaned at the rudeness of the comment.
“No, thank you very much. It’s Alex’s nephew, Johnny. He’s—missing. We think he’s been kidnapped. I assumed you knew.” Laurie also assumed that Brett would have spoken to Ryan about it already. From Ryan’s first day at Fisher Blake Studios, he had enjoyed a closer relationship with the boss than she ever would. Even without the many perks of nepotism, she would have thought Ryan followed the news closely enough to hear about a missing child on Long Island, whether or not the story penetrated the city’s new cycle.
Ryan’s shock appeared genuine. “I’m so sorry, Laurie. What can we do to help? You don’t need to be in the office. We can take care of everything here.”
It took her a few minutes to spell out Leo’s theory that Darren Gunther might have mistakenly abducted Johnny in an attempt to grab Timmy instead, and her plans to use the show as a way to confront Gunther directly. “His lawyer’s Tracy Mahoney. He agreed to be interviewed against her advice.”
“That’s his lawyer?” Ryan’s green eyes widened with concern.
“Alex warned me she can be a challenge. A true believer, he called her.”
“Oh, she’s far more sinister than that. If you’re trying to figure out how Gunther could get help from the outside world, Tracy Mahoney is the answer.”
Chapter 28
Johnny sat on the hardwood floor, his legs folded criss-cross-applesauce. Scattered on the floor in front of him were two hundred and fifty pieces of a jigsaw puzzle the man had brought this morning after Johnny had eaten a breakfast of fried eggs and white toast. Johnny liked eggs to be scrambled, and his mom always used wheat bread at home, but he made himself eat all of it anyway. He didn’t want the man to be mad, which was also the reason why he was trying so hard to put the puzzle together. It wasn’t the largest one he’d ever seen. He had worked on a giant one with a thousand pieces before, but that was with his whole family, where his dad was nicknamed the Puzzle Master. That’s how good he was.
When the man gave him the puzzle, he said, “This should keep you from getting too bored. Plus puzzles are good for the mind, Danny.” He had tapped his temple with his index finger for emphasis. It felt to Johnny like some kind of test—one he didn’t want to fail.
Following his dad’s strategy, Johnny had located all four corner pieces and had separated out all the edges. Now he was studying the image on the puzzle box, trying to figure out which pieces belonged on which edge.
The picture was of two children, a boy and a girl, sitting in the grass with a big brown dog on a red, white, and blue plaid quilt, looking up at a sky filled with fireworks.
He suddenly pictured himself walking on the grass at Meridian Hill Park on the Fourth of July when he was only five years old. He remembered the way his mom had grabbed him and pulled him into a hug that was so tight, it almost scared him. Where were you?! He remembered how worried she sounded. He had only left to find the park bathroom, but she made him promise never to go off alone again. Then, the next day, they had a longer talk about staying safe and not talking to strangers.
I didn’t wander off, Mommy. Not this time. Not really. I was with Kara’s friend, Ashley, and the lifeguard named Jack. We went to the beach shack for ice cream cones. They were talking about music I’ve never heard of, so I went looking for seashells. I was going to pick the best ones and have them waiting for you in the hotel room when you got back from golf. I went behind the beach shack, but only for a second, and I could still hear Ashley laughing, so that’s not really wandering off. And I saw the ice cream truck man get out of the truck and go inside the store, saying he needed more Fudgesicles before heading back out on his route. And then I heard a car. It pulled in behind the ice cream truck. I turned around to go back to Ashley and Jack, then a man’s voice behind me said I missed a pretty shell by the truck. I remembered what you told me, Mommy. I didn’t talk to the stranger. I tried to run when he walked toward me, but he was too fast. He grabbed me, and I woke up in the trunk of his car.
Johnny could hear the man walking around upstairs now, and he was talking again. Johnny crept to the corner of his room and crouched down on the floor, placing his ear in front of the air vent. He could only make out a few words. The boy… Changing everything. The more the man spoke, the more upset he sounded.
Then he heard a second voice. It was the woman he had heard last night. How are we going to take care of him? That part, Johnny heard loud and clear. It was easier to make out the higher voice.
The man said something about having plenty of money from the insurance. Then he said something about a court order.
When his mom warned him about stranger danger, she told him that if he ever did find himself alone and lost and in need of help, he should look for a police officer or a teacher. And if he couldn’t find one, then he should find a woman or a group of women. He always assumed it was because they’d be more like a mommy.
But Johnny couldn’t imagine what kind of woman would be here in this house with that man. Is it possible she might help me?
The man was speaking again. “It’s all going to be fine. Trust me, Diane.”
At least, that’s what it sounded like he said. Diane? Roseanne? Lee Ann? Something like that. Maybe she would be nicer than the man. Maybe she would find a way to take him home to his family.
Johnny heard footsteps on the staircase and scrambled back to the puzzle. It seemed hopeless. There were too many pieces. But he had a terrible feeling he would have a very, very long time alone with it.
Chapter 29
Ryan Nichols was pacing the length of Laurie’s office, like a litigator making a closing argument to a jury.
“Tracy Mahoney isn’t your typical defense lawyer—someone like Alex, for example.”
“I certainly don’t consider anything about Alex Buckley typical,” Jerry quipped. “He did become a federal judge after all.”
Laurie knew that Jerry took a certain amount of satisfaction comparing Ryan to his beloved predecessor. Last year, a rabid fan of the show had posted a “Which Host Is Most” poll on the Under Suspicion Facebook page, asking viewers to vote between Ryan and Alex as their favorite TV host. Jerry had taken it upon himself to share the poll on the show’s official feed, touting it as a “fun survey!” When the votes favored Alex by nearly fifteen points, Ryan didn’t seem to revel in the “fun” results.
“What I mean,” Ryan clarified, “is that even as a former prosecutor, I value the role that defense attorneys play in our criminal justice system. They make certain that the government is put to a fair test. They protect all of us by ensuring that every defendant is treated fairly and that there’s sufficient evidence for a conviction.”
“We all agree on that,” Laurie said. “As the old saying goes, ‘Better that ten guilty people go free, than for one innocent to suffer.’ So how does Tracy Mahoney fit in?”
“She doesn’t simply believe in doing her job within the system. She believes it is justified for defense attorneys to take actions outside the system. She calls herself a ‘movement lawyer,’ ” Ryan explained. “She says that she advocates for the broader political interests of her clients, rather than simply the specific legal issues they may face in an individual case.”
“So give me an example,” Laurie said.
“About four years ago, she represented a defendant in a robbery case. It was a home invasion in Southampton. The police had him dead to rights on one specific incident, but they believed he was part of a larger group that pulled off a series of robberies targeting millionaires and billionaires who donated to political causes they opposed. They would divert the stolen money to their
own favored special interests. The defendant immediately invoked his rights when the police tried to question him. He didn’t even need to ask for the public defender’s number like most suspects. He had Tracy Mahoney’s number already loaded into his cell phone. She showed up, saying her client was interested in an early cooperation deal but insisted on seeing the evidence against him before finalizing the agreement. The discovery package included some evidence that came from an active wiretap monitoring the entire crew. The prosecutors deleted any mention of the wiretap itself, but she’d be smart enough to wonder how police learned about some of those conversations. All of a sudden, the phone calls stopped. Radio silence. And Mahoney’s client never took the deal.”
“You think she tipped them off,” Laurie said.
“Well, the DA’s Office certainly did. They thought about bringing charges or reporting her to the State Bar, but they had no way of proving their suspicions.”
“How do you know so much about this?” Laurie asked. Ryan had worked at the U.S. Attorney’s Office, which was for federal prosecutions. The District Attorney’s Office was separate, for state-level offenses.
“Because she pulled a similar stunt when I was at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. The federal prison system had in place what were called Special Administrative Measures, or SAMs, to regulate conversations between high-risk federal defendants and their lawyers. Basically, anything the lawyers learned from a client couldn’t be passed on to others.”
“And Mahoney violated the orders?” Laurie asked.
“The client was part of a ring of ecoterrorists. They vandalized companies that abuse natural resources and experiment on animals. Tracy Mahoney would take mission statements from her client and repeat them verbatim to cable news stations. She wasn’t acting as a lawyer so much as a public relations rep.”
“So how is she still getting away with all this?”
“Because she’s a darn good lawyer,” Ryan said. “She cherry-picks her cases wisely. At least half are run-of-the-mill cases. Another quarter are highly paid white-collar trials that fund her entire practice. And the rest are her passion projects, and that’s where she skirts the line.”
Laurie’s thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone.
“This is Laurie,” she said.
“This is Samantha Finney. You called about my father?”
Laurie had begun to explain that Under Suspicion would be investigating Darren Gunther’s wrongful conviction claim, when Samantha interrupted. “I don’t conduct any business that matters over the telephone. I need to see a face in person and look them in the eye to form an opinion. I learned that from my father.”
“Just name the time and place,” Laurie said.
Chapter 30
The smell of ammonia tinged with a faint whiff of lilies greeted Laurie as she walked into Organique, the hair salon owned by Samantha Finney. The decor was naturalism meets minimalism, all white with bleached wood accents and flourishing potted plants for pops of green.
“Oooh, great color,” the receptionist gushed as Laurie approached the check-in desk. Her name tag identified her as Rachel. Her own tresses were streaked with pink and piled in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. The hoop in her left nostril was gold. “You’re clearly in no need of a touch-up. It’s just perfect with your stunning hazel eyes.”
Laurie had read once that businesses that cater to a woman’s physical appearance make a point to comment on their customers’ attractiveness. The idea was to build a customer’s self-esteem while also reinforcing the importance of aesthetic beauty. Or perhaps Rachel was simply paying her a compliment. Indeed, Laurie had been to her own hairdresser only three days earlier. Charlotte had convinced Laurie to add a few blond highlights to her natural honey color for the wedding. According to her friend, the blond would shine more in photographs, without looking fake. A time when her hair color was the pressing matter of the day felt like a different lifetime.
“I’m here to see Samantha,” Laurie said, raising her voice to be heard over a hairdryer blowing on the other side of the reception desk. Rachel began to flip through the appointment book. “Laurie Moran, but I’m probably not in the schedule. Samantha’s expecting me, though. I spoke to her on the phone this afternoon.”
Laurie noticed that the hairdresser at the back station of the busy salon was looking in their direction. Rachel turned and caught the woman’s eye. The woman managed to expertly wrap a section of her client’s hair in tinfoil while simultaneously pointing to herself, as if to say, Is that for me?
Rachel nodded, and Samantha flashed a peace sign with her fingers.
“She’ll just be a couple of minutes,” Rachel said.
As promised, two minutes later, Samantha snapped off a pair of latex gloves and dropped them in a wastebasket on her way to the salon’s waiting area. She gave her palms a quick wipe on her black smock before greeting Laurie with a handshake.
“Samantha Finney. Thanks for coming.” Samantha had bright blue eyes, alabaster skin, and dark wavy hair that framed her round face. Laurie guessed Samantha was at most a few years older than she was. “Sorry, I know I told you I had a hole in my schedule, but my five o’clock got here half an hour late. No apology, of course, and she never tips more than five percent, but hey, the customer’s always right.” She flashed an obviously forced smile. “Anyway, I assume your show wants to highlight that lying lowlife who killed my dad, so, yeah, I brought you all the way downtown to tell you to your face you’re being suckered. You can produce whatever story you want, but I’m not going to help you turn that man—”
“Darren Gunther.”
Samantha winced at the sound of his name. “I refuse to say it out loud. My father, he was a hero. He was my hero. And that piece of garbage took him away from me. To me, he doesn’t even deserve to be thought of as a human being, let alone… some kind of oppressed artist?” She shook her head. “You can’t understand. You just know he’ll help your ratings.”
“I know a little something about having a hero for a father. I’m Leo Farley’s daughter.”
Samantha’s eyes widened. “Wow.” As she processed the information, Laurie could see Samantha’s expression soften. “We can talk in my break room.”
* * *
Samantha took a deep breath and exhaled once the break room door was closed. “Most draft-proof door the contractor could find, plus I run an air purifier back here 24/7. Those chemicals are no joke.”
“But they’re… Organique?”
“Rebranded last year. Everybody wants to sound so green and natural these days. But guess what? If you want your curly hair straight, or your straight hair curly, there are chemicals involved.” Samantha took a seat at the small dining table at the center of the room, and Laurie did the same. “Anyway, you’ve definitely got my attention. Your father was such a rock for me all through the investigation and trial. I’m surprised he didn’t call me himself. I’d do anything for Leo Farley.”
Aware of the clock literally ticking on their meeting, Laurie did her best to explain the separation she was trying to preserve between her father’s role as a witness and the decisions she was making as a journalist and television producer. She saw no reason at this point to mention Johnny’s kidnapping or its possible connection to Samantha’s father’s killer.
“I’ve got to assume you’re not the number one fan of the man accusing your father of perjury,” Samantha said.
Laurie held up her palms. “I’m keeping an open mind.”
“Gotcha. Well, despite everything I said out there, you no longer need to convince me. I’m all aboard, whatever you need. But I can’t imagine he’s going to go along with it. Not if he finds out who you are.”
Laurie knew that the he was Darren Gunther, the man whose name Samantha refused to speak. “He already agreed, against the advice of his lawyer. I just need to work out the logistics with the prison.”
Samantha nodded slowly. “It’s his ego. What better way to hurt a fine man like yo
ur father than to turn his own daughter against him? So, what exactly do you need from me?”
Laurie slipped a copy of the show’s participant consent agreement from her briefcase and handed it to Samantha. “We can go over the schedule and details later, but this lays it all out.”
Samantha rose from her seat to pick up a pen stashed next to a single-cup coffeemaker on the countertop.
“That’s all right. Take your time and read it. I can pick it up tomorrow—”
Samantha was already handing her the signed document. “No need. The trust I have for your father’s big enough to extend to you.”
Laurie smiled at the sentiment. Tucking away the completed contract in her bag, she pulled out a second copy and placed it on the table. “Okay, but I’m leaving this here. If you have second thoughts, call me anytime.”
Samantha was leading the way out of the break room when she stopped and turned. “Finn’s.”
“Your dad’s bar.”
“Right, yes. But Finn’s. That’s what I should have renamed the salon. As a tribute. Man, I loved that bar. Dad used to let me draw beers from the tap for the regulars, even as a little rug rat. Blatant liquor commission violations, but who was going to say anything? That place was like my second home.”
Laurie could see that Samantha’s eyes had drifted to an invisible screen playing scenes from her past.
“You didn’t want to keep it open after your dad passed?”
“I sure did. Clarissa and I were going to keep it going together.”
Laurie recognized the name. “Clarissa DeSanto,” she said.
“Yep. She was practically Dad’s second daughter. Salt of the earth, that girl. But commercial Realtors don’t see a couple of young women as family. The landlords knew the neighborhood would rebel if they tried to hike the rent on my dad, but the loyalty didn’t extend to the next generation. They said it was because we didn’t have a track record and they didn’t want to gamble on two novice businesswomen, but they saw an opportunity to make more money and they took it.”
Piece of My Heart Page 12
