“Uncle William and Aunt Sarah had a son. He died when he was an infant. Sarah couldn’t have another child, and she was very kind to me. She has Alzheimer’s now and lives totally in the past. She doesn’t even know my uncle’s name, or who he is. It’s been hard on him.”
Alexa imagined that hard on him was a relative term, since Dr. LePointe had the ability to pay others to do any necessary caretaking.
“Could your uncle dislike Gary enough to do something about him?” Alexa asked.
Casey smiled. “Unko wouldn’t harm anyone. He tried to buy Gary off at the beginning, and failed. The only way Unko could understand a man refusing a great deal of money is he wants a lot more. The idea that anyone could be uninterested in wealth makes wealthy people suspicious. Gary doesn’t like my uncle, and he doesn’t like for Deana to be around Unko, because he thinks Unko will warp her somehow, and my uncle resents that. Not that Unko is comfortable around a child, but he hates it that Gary makes it obvious he isn’t welcome in her life, or mine, in any meaningful way-or in the way he chooses to be.”
“Who would have a motive to harm Gary?”
“Nobody.”
“Obviously Gary would be an attractive target for a kidnapper looking for a big score. Unless there’s a motive I’m not aware of. Except…” Casey started to say something, but stopped.
“What is it?”
“Gary is not a threat to my uncle, but it’s possible others might not know that…”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, someone else might take it upon themselves to do something that they thought would please Unko. Especially before Tuesday.”
“Before the prenuptial agreement expires. Who else knows about the prenup?”
“Very few people. Aside from Grace, just lawyers for the trusts, bankers, people running the companies I own who might be affected by Gary’s participation-if he ever chose to become involved in any of those businesses, which I seriously doubt. And there’s Unko, of course, and maybe whoever he’s told, but he would never hang family laundry in the open. His investigator, Kenneth Decell, is the closest thing to a confidant Unko has, but I don’t know what he tells him. Unko compartmentalizes every aspect of his life. Sometimes people do things because they think they will be rewarded for it one way or another. It’s possible, isn’t it? If Gary was kidnapped for a ransom, that’s federal, isn’t it? You could become actively involved, couldn’t you? Please?” Casey’s moist eyes-the eyes of a child in pain-plucked at Alexa’s heartstrings.
“Yes,” Alexa answered. “In the case of a kidnapping, the locals could ask for our involvement, but they don’t usually do so if they can avoid it. And in the event they do, I might or might not be assigned to the case. There are a lot of variables and politics at work within the Bureau, and the friction between federal and local authorities is often the least of it. If you think of law enforcement as parts of a large complex corporation with all the red tape, rules, competition between employees, and cliques, you begin to see it as it is.”
“You would be assigned to us,” Casey said, beaming. “I know you would. I mean, you’re an expert and you’re here already, so you’ve got a head start. And you have a wonderful track record.”
She stood, extended her hand, holding Alexa’s hand for what seemed to Alexa a very long time. “It will work out, I know it will. You are our only hope.”
“I truly want to help you, Casey. If this does turn out to be an abduction, I’ll do whatever I can.”
“I have to go. I don’t want Deana to wake up and not find me there. She’s already upset that Gary isn’t home, and the excitement and strangers in the house has her terribly confused. Please try to help us, Alexa. Without Gary, my daughter doesn’t have a chance. As deeply as I love her, I think without Gary I can’t stand up to Unko. I simply don’t have it in me to give her all that Gary can. We need him in our lives.”
11
When the phone rang, Michael Manseur had been asleep less than forty minutes. His wife, Emily, rolled over to face him as he put the receiver to his ear. The clock read 5:12. Manseur repressed a groan.
“Hello?”
“Detective Manseur, Jackson Evans.”
Manseur sat up. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ll see you in my office in one hour.”
Manseur started to say something, then realized that his superintendent had already hung up.
“Is everything all right?” Emily asked.
“Cover your eyes, doll. I need to turn on the light for a second.”
“You’re not getting enough sleep, Michael,” she scolded gently. “You need to take a few days off.”
“That isn’t going to happen any time soon.” He settled back into the pillows with a soft sigh. “With authority comes sacrifice.”
“You didn’t sleep a night through when you weren’t head of Homicide.”
“I didn’t?” he said, smiling. “No, I guess not. Shouldn’t miss what I never had.”
“Who was that on the phone?”
“The super.”
“What did he want?”
“He wants you and the girls to evacuate to Birmingham.”
“The hurricane isn’t definitely coming here, Michael. If it becomes obvious that it is, we’ll go.”
“Get everything packed this morning. I filled the Toyota last night. I want you and the girls gone while the going’s good. No arguing, please, Emily. I can’t get my work done if I’m worried about y’all.”
“Okay. We’ll leave this afternoon. Now, what did Evans really want?”
“I think he wants to give me a lesson on how gravity affects stinky objects that have been set into motion down an incline.”
Emily laughed, placed her hand on his arm. “You need to learn to step out of the way of trouble, Michael.”
“Darling, I try. But sometimes the trouble that gets in my way comes at me faster than I can jump clear.”
12
As much as Alexa wanted to help Casey, it wasn’t going to happen unless Jackson Evans asked her to help, and that was no more likely to happen than the moon was likely to deflate. She had packed her bag, was dressed and watching the latest hurricane news on the Weather Channel, glad she was leaving before the tempest came roaring in from the Gulf of Mexico. She had made arrangements to have a cab pick her up at the lobby entrance in thirty minutes, which gave her three hours before her nine-twelve flight, plenty of time even if traffic was heavy, or an accident stopped traffic. The room phone rang twice before she picked it up.
“Yes?” she answered.
“Special Agent Keen?” a stern female voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Please hold for the director.”
FBI Director Bender? Alexa waited with the phone frozen to her ear, a hollow churning in her stomach. It was a feeling she was familiar with. She had experienced it on the occasions when she was waiting to be disciplined.
After a long pause, during which time the weatherman on her television set droned on about Katrina, there was a click and a man’s voice filled the earpiece.
“Agent Keen, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. I need for you to do me a big favor.”
“If I can, sir.”
