“You played your trump card.”
“I sure did. Laid it all out for him. Along with some proper incentive, if you get my drift.”
“How much blood was there to clean up?” Ryan inquired.
“None.” Claire grinned. “Marc’s a very neat worker.”
“But you accomplished what you set out to do.”
Marc nodded. “And once we find Paul Everett and save our client’s baby, I’ll make sure the details of Fenton’s crimes fall into the right hands.”
Ryan got it. “Do you still want to go to Mercer’s?”
“Definitely. He’s back home during the Congressional winter break. It’s time we had a little chat and tied up some loose ends. You’re welcome to join Claire and me for this one—unless you’re in midresearch. No need to spring Claire on Mercer as the omniscient psychic. I’ve got a different agenda in mind for him.”
“I can join you, no problem. I made my own headway while you were roughing up Fenton,” Ryan replied as he drove away from Fenton’s mansion.
“The call log?” Marc asked.
“Nope. That’s next on my list. But I finally found a link between Paul Everett and John Morano. Weird that I missed it until now. It seems the two guys have the same real-estate attorney.”
“Interesting.” Marc processed that piece of data. “So this attorney is the one who worked with each of them on the hotel project.”
“Yup. I saw the real-estate documents themselves, pulled them up on the computer. The lawyer’s name is Frederick Wilkenson. He’s got a stellar reputation, a spotless record and an office right in Southampton. I think we should spend the night at Amanda’s place so I can pay him a visit tomorrow morning—just to size him up. He’s not going to say anything. He’ll cite attorney-client privilege.”
“I agree. But it’s worth you feeling him out. It’s interesting—and somewhat unusual—that he represents both Morano and Everett. And it’s suspicious that you didn’t uncover this until now, not given the in-depth search you’ve been doing. It makes this whole situation smell even worse. And while you’re visiting Wilkenson, I’ll make my repeat performance at Fenton’s and see what I scared up.”
“Works for me.”
“Let’s just make sure we’re not needed at home,” Marc said. “We’ll check in with Casey after our chat with Mercer. If she agrees, we’ll make our morning social calls.”
* * *
Casey was frustrated as hell.
She was batting zero, having gotten nothing out of the cops and nothing out of Detective Jones. Oh, he knew something. Casey picked that up from his body language. But he’d obviously been told to keep quiet, whether by his supervisor or by someone higher up, she wasn’t sure. But, short of getting herself tossed in jail, Casey had tried everything, to no avail.
Then there was Patrick’s phone call to his buddy with the U.S. Marshals. Another stone wall. His friend hadn’t come out and denied that Paul Everett was in the Witness Protection Program, but he hadn’t admitted it, either. Again, whatever was going on with Paul Everett, the U.S. Marshals had also been told to keep a lid on it.
After that unproductive attempt, Patrick had had the unpleasant task of talking to Amanda, telling her about her uncle.
She didn’t take it well. In fact, it had taken all of Patrick’s abilities of persuasion to keep her from calling Fenton up and demanding answers. Thanks to Claire’s advice, which Patrick had employed, Amanda had settled down enough to concentrate on Justin and let FI handle her uncle.
Justin hadn’t gotten worse. Then again, he hadn’t gotten better, either. He was still on the ventilator, his breathing labored as he continued battling the pneumonia.
Things on Casey’s end just plain sucked.
Things weren’t going too well with Hutch, either. The tension between them was so thick, it was stifling.
When Casey went upstairs to grab a quick nap before Marc called in, she found Hutch sitting at the edge of the bed, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His half-packed bag was sitting on the floor beside him.
Casey paused in the bedroom doorway. “You’re leaving?”
He turned, his jaw tight. “I’m due back the day after tomorrow. I was just trying to decide whether or not it paid to stay till then. I’m trying to help you, but I’m afraid we’ll kill each other if I hang around.”
Sighing, Casey shut the door behind her. “I know you’re angry at me and worried about me. I also know you understand where I’m coming from. You’re torn. I get it. But we’ve had this discussion a dozen times. I’m not trying to impede an FBI investigation. I’m just trying to save my client’s child. And if those two things conflict, then I have no choice but to piss off the Bureau.” She paused. “If you’d tell me more, perhaps I could avoid messing up their investigation.”
“You know I can’t do that. Not that I’m a fountain of knowledge. You already figured out that I was shut down. I just know that the Bureau is not open to discussion on this one. Which tells me you’re dealing with dangerous people. So, yeah, I’m worried. And I’m pissed. You’re so fucking stubborn. There’s got to be another way to help your client.”