The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts 2)

“Yes,” Rodriguez replied. “The problem was, there was no hard evidence against Fenton or Mercer. So when the case was referred to the New York Field Office, I approved the Public Corruption Squad’s request to aggressively pursue the case. We made arrangements for the landowner to sell his property to an FBI shell company with the understanding that, once our sting was over, we’d sell the property back to him at the same price.”

“And the new owner of the property became Paul Everett,” Richard stated, repeating the facts for the benefit of the CUORC members. “Or rather, Special Agent Paul Evans of the Philadelphia Field Office. Everett was his UC name.”

“Exactly. Paul was the ideal candidate for the job.”

“Not so ideal,” Richard said drily. “Getting romantically involved with Amanda Gleason was a colossal mistake—one we’re all paying for now.”

“Agreed.” Douglas Sawyer, Unit Chief of Undercover and Sensitive Operations, nodded, taking full responsibility for the case-altering snag. “But none of us, Paul included, anticipated that complication. Paul was the right choice for the assignment. He’d done UC work before, and he had a background in real-estate development, so creating his legend was easy. What happened afterward, his involvement with Ms. Gleason—that was a lapse in judgment we tried to correct. Paul refused.”

“Let’s stay on point,” Richard said. “What was your plan?”

“Our plan was for Paul to make himself very visible and to play ball with Fenton. Only Fenton got smart. He wanted to size Everett up before he showed his full hand. So he softened his tactics by simply delaying the permits and waffling about Fenton Dredging taking part in the construction project. No extortion, not for the time being.”

Sawyer paused to drink some water.

Rodriguez co

ntinued. “Where Fenton left off, the Vizzini family took over. Their leverage was the unions. So now we had two targets—Fenton and the Vizzini crime family.” He gestured toward James Kirkpatrick, Section Chief of Criminal Enterprises for the Americas. “We brought in CE. Together, we arranged for Everett to make his payments to the mob and to strike up a working relationship with Fenton. We hoped to bring them all down, including those in Washington, D.C., who were involved.”

Rodriguez went on to explain that their investigation had revealed that Congressman Mercer was Lyle Fenton’s son, that he was in his pocket, and that they intended to find out how deeply.

“The problem was budget constraints,” Kirkpatrick said, taking over from Rodriguez with the Criminal Enterprise point of view. “We had limited funding. And the PC unit had already overextended itself with the land purchase. Paul was frustrated, and right on the brink of nailing Fenton. He took a weekend off and went to Boston, where he ran in a law enforcement charity 10K marathon. Evidently, he did this every year. Should have been no problem. Except that he ran into a buddy of his, Ron Pembrooke, his former roommate as a New Agent Trainee in Quantico. Pembrooke’s now a backup media specialist at the Boston Field Office. Even that would have been okay, if Pembrooke hadn’t placed in the damned race, if Paul hadn’t gone over to slap him on the back, and if a local photographer hadn’t snapped a shot of them together right in front of the Law Enforcement Officer’s charity banner—a photo that later appeared in American Police Beat magazine.”

Everyone in the room nodded, as the sequence of events became clear. Paul had compromised the investigation—not only by getting involved with Amanda Gleason, but by failing to maintain anonymity.

“We had to pull Paul out,” Sawyer said. “We were planning on scrubbing the entire UC op. If Kirkpatrick’s people hadn’t come up with their proposal, and if the ADIC and CE hadn’t approved the funding to support it, we’d have been dead in the water.”

“Which is how you made it look like Paul Everett was,” Richard commented.

“Yes,” Kirkpatrick confirmed. “We faked Everett’s death and made it look like a mob hit. We got the cooperation of the local State Troopers, who closed the murder investigation ASAP. CE bought the shell company from the Political Corruption unit. CE took over the entire operation and supplied one of our own UC agents—John Macari, now John Morano. We’re about to bring this case to fruition. We just need a few key pieces of evidence. And with so much invested by the Bureau, we can’t afford to back off or to compromise the investigation—certainly not for the personal needs of one agent.”

“We’re not discussing an agent,” Richard corrected. “We’re discussing a dying infant. And you wouldn’t be compromising the investigation. We could have Paul Evans escorted to Sloane Kettering and kept in hiding until you complete your operation.” A heartbeat of a pause, after which he played Patricia’s trump card—the one she had briefed him on just before the CUORC meeting. “Plus, as you yourself just said, you don’t have certain pieces of key evidence. We could change that.”

Kirkpatrick frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means we can obtain the evidence we need while simultaneously ensuring that Paul Evans will not be seen or identified at the hospital.”

“With all due respect, Rich, can you truly make assurances like that? Amanda Gleason is Lyle Fenton’s niece. What’s to stop him from visiting the hospital at the exact time that Evans is being donor tested? What’s to stop anyone in the New York area who knew Evans as Everett from recognizing him? And what’s to stop these Forensic Instincts people from inserting themselves yet again and screwing things up? Can you guarantee that none of that will happen?”

“Yes.” Richard didn’t miss a beat. “I can.” He carefully described Patricia’s entire plan, just as she’d instructed him to.

The room was filled with a deadly silence, as all the attendees contemplated the proposal, glancing at one another to gauge how others might vote.

Minutes later, Richard walked into his boss’s office to deliver the verdict.

* * *

Hutch was showered and dressed when Casey came upstairs to her apartment and walked into the bedroom.

“Good morning.” She smiled, went over to him and kissed him hello.

“Sort of.” Hutch wrapped his arms around her. “I would have preferred a proper good morning to a cold bed and a belated kiss.”

“Sorry. Duty called.” Casey kissed him again, then stepped away. “It’s been a crazy morning. It’s about to get crazier. Patrick’s picking me up. I have to race off again. I wish I could share the details with you.” A sigh. “Maybe when it’s over and we’ve saved little Justin.”

“You’ll save him, Casey. I have faith in you.” That was something Hutch could say with complete candor.

“Thank you. I hope you’re right. And, for the record, I hope we can do it without jeopardizing an FBI investigation.”