PICU with him. She asked me to call you.”
“Thank God.” Casey felt a wave of relief. “Whatever time this bought us, I’m using. I filled Hutch in on everything. He’s closeted in one of the downstairs offices, reaching out for his contacts, as we speak.”
“Good. Meanwhile, there have been no more phone calls at this end. That doesn’t mean a thing. Someone’s keeping a sharp eye on Amanda and on us. My guess is he’s in restraint mode while he gets a read on me. But he’ll be back. He’s not going anywhere as long as we’re continuing this manhunt.”
“Which we are-full force,” Casey stressed.
“Any word back from Ryan on the phone records? Not that I think he’ll find anything.”
“No, and I agree. The guy probably used a burner phone. He’s not an amateur. He’s not going to get caught through phone records.”
“And what’s going on with Morano’s office? Have the cops officially declared it as arson yet?”
“Nope. They’re playing it very close to the vest. But I plan on calling our friend Detective Jones in a few hours. He’s been busy checking us out. It’s time I did a little information pumping of my own.”
The captain of
Several hours behind schedule and fifteen nautical miles from New York Harbor, he was anxious to recover the last “catch” of the night. The container had been jettisoned two weeks ago in great haste, narrowly avoiding interception by the U.S. Coast Guard, which had stepped up drug interdiction efforts. Fashioned from an old shipping container with large cutouts on all sides, the steel box would have rapidly filled with water and sunk like a massive boat anchor. Steel mesh, welded over the manhole-size holes, would be keeping larger fish out of the container, where they might try to feed off the hermetically sealed bricks of cocaine.
The container and its contents were safe on the ocean floor, but their location, close to the center of the Hudson Shelf Valley, could be problematic.
Extending southeast from the Verrazano-Narrows at a forty-five-degree angle, the Hudson Shelf Valley bisected the New York Bight region of the continental shelf. Depths could reach over two hundred feet, which would make it impossible for the ship and its team of divers to retrieve the valuable cache of cocaine.
But luck was with them today.
The outline of the shipping container appeared on the LCD display-at a depth of 120 feet. Swiftly, the captain motioned to his first mate to dispatch the two divers. In a matter of minutes, the expert underwater team had deployed into the icy waters, attached a grappling hook to the loops of heavy steel cable welded onto the container and begun to haul it to the surface.
Two hours later,
The fire in Hampton Bays was ruled as arson.
The announcement was made, not by the police, but by the media. As was often the case, they beat the police to the punch-perhaps not with the conclusive findings, but with the revelation.
Within three hours, they’d made enough intrusional headway at the crime scene to put together the pieces and shout them out to the tristate area.
The facts were clear. A shack thoroughly doused with gasoline. The office of a real-estate developer about to embark on a multimillion-dollar project. The successor of a developer who was the victim of a bloody, no-body homicide eight months ago.
It was the kind of story ambitious reporters lived for.
Casey heard the breaking news on her headphones while jogging with Hero back home from the park. It explained why Detective Jones hadn’t returned her call. She’d thought he’d just been hiding from her-which no doubt he had been. But he’d also been directing all his resources to shutting down the media.
Unfortunately, not only would that be an impossible task, it would also be like closing the barn door after the horse was out.
Hurrying inside, Casey unleashed Hero, who bounded up the stairs behind her as she made her way to FI’s main conference room with its gigantic, multiscreened video wall.
“Hello, Casey. Hello, Hero,” Yoda greeted them.
“Yoda, I need to see all local TV news,” Casey instructed him.
“Are you looking for breaking news?” Yoda inquired. “Otherwise, you’ll find it problematic. It’s eleven forty- five-none of the local stations carry news programs at this time.”
Casey contemplated that truth.
“Would you prefer local news radio?” Yoda asked. “That would be on the air now.”
“I’ve already heard the radio announcement. I’d like visuals to go along with it.”
“I see. Then how shall I proceed?”
“What about midday news?” Casey asked. “A few of the local stations broadcast that.”
“Correct. Both CBS and ABC have news at noon. Shall I pull up both stations and we’ll await the midday hour?”
“Yes, Yoda, please.”
“Certainly.” The screens came to life. “I’m showing CBS on your left and ABC on your right. News will begin in precisely thirteen minutes, twelve seconds. Please advise me if you’d like one of the two stations expanded to full screen.”
“Thanks, Yoda. I will. One more thing. While we’re waiting, can you please search the internet for any stories about the fire at John Morano’s office?”
“Beginning search,” Yoda replied. Seconds later, he announced, “Nothing found.”
“Okay then, please check out the live internet feed from the local TV station in the Hamptons. The rest of Long Island, as well. Then, add those to the video display.”
“Very well.” A pause. “Local news will now begin in twelve minutes thirty-four seconds. Internet video feeds displaying now.”
“Good.”
As Casey had expected, the Long Island news stations were the first to scroll the breaking news of the fire across the bottom of the screen. A few minutes after noon, CBS showed a live report on the fire itself. Obviously, they’d had a TV crew in the area filming something else and had diverted them to the scene of the fire for more sensational coverage. The CBS reporter stated that they were awaiting confirmation from the local authorities that the fire was suspicious. Minutes later, ABC echoed the same information.
Casey’s phone rang. A quick glance at the caller ID.
“Hey, Ryan. Did you find anything in the phone records?” Casey asked. “Or are you just calling to tell me that the local news stations are jumping the gun on the arson story.”
“Actually, both,” Ryan replied. “Nothing on the phone records. The burner phone is probably lying at the bottom of the East River. And I’m glad you heard the local news reports.”
“I not only heard them, I’m watching them right now. As Yoda pointed out, CBS and ABC have midday news coverage. And the reporters are all over the arson story.”
“Did you reach Jones?”
“What do you think?”
Ryan chuckled. “I think he’s in deep shit and trying to shovel his way out with a teaspoon.”
“For sure. But I’ll get through to him. He can’t dodge me forever. I’ll just drive there and get in his face.” Casey paused, a fine tension lacing her tone. “Justin had another setback this morning,” she said. “It was pretty rough at the hospital.” She went on to explain the pneumothorax to Ryan.
“What happened?” she heard Marc call out from the background.
“Hang on,” Ryan said to Casey. She heard him telling Marc the specifics.
“Give me the phone,” Marc responded.
