“Those bureaucratic rules are what define our criminal justice system. Without them-” Hutch broke off with a frustrated sound. “Let’s not go down this path for the hundredth time. We don’t agree. That’s why you started Forensic Instincts and why I’m with the Bureau.”
Casey struggled for control-and for objectivity. She knew Hutch was being Hutch, doing what he believed in. But she just couldn’t wrap her mind around it, not in this case.
“We’re talking about a newborn baby,” she said, keeping her tone intentionally calm. “He won’t survive much longer without a donor transplant. He might not survive anyway. Hutch, I won’t ask you to compromise your principles. Just tell me what you can, what you feel comfortable saying. I’ll try to fill in the blanks. Please. I’m begging you. I won’t tell anyone, not even the team, where I got the information.”
“You know that’s not the issue, Casey.” Hutch’s tone was equally restrained. “Anything I wouldn’t feel comfortable with your sharing with the team, I wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing with you. This isn’t personal. It’s professional.” A pause, as Hutch grappled with his choice of words. “I wasn’t lying. I have no idea where Paul Everett is. Nor do I have the faintest idea how to find him. I’m not sure who, if anyone, does. Classified information is shared on a need-to-know basis.”
“I hear you.” Casey digested what Hutch was and wasn’t saying. Paul Everett was in the federal system and he was a part of some investigation. A significant investigation, if it was classified. And that meant that even Hutch had limited information.
“Is Paul alive?” Casey asked.
“I don’t know. I can only speculate.”
“Okay, then what would you speculate?”
“I’d speculate that he’s probably alive.”
“Agreed. Or the Bureau wouldn’t be so eager to keep a lid on his part in their investigation.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Hutch shrugged. “It could be that any update on his status is classified. I’m just guessing, based on instinct. I have no facts to support them.”
Casey nodded. “When you first walked in here, you had a strong, negative reaction to my watching Mercer’s press conference. That tells me that this investigation involves him, too.”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“And Lyle Fenton?”
Hutch sliced the air with his hand. “That’s it, Case. Twenty questions is over. I helped you as much as I can- and then some. Any more and I’ll be violating my beliefs and my professional ethics.”
Casey listened to Hutch’s every word, watched his every tell. He was trained and he was good. Downright unreadable, under most circumstances. But in this case, he was trying to convey information without conveying it. So he was definitely more open to interpretation.
Whatever broad investigation the FBI was conducting, Congressman Mercer and Lyle Fenton were key players in it.
“Casey,” Hutch added in a grim tone, “I don’t think I did you any favors by pushing this with the Bureau. Now that they’ve been clued in to the fact that you’re on a major manhunt for Paul Everett, they’re going to do everything they can to block you.”
“Did they come right out and tell you that?”
“No, or I couldn’t be repeating it. But you and I are both smart enough to figure it out. It’s one thing for them to see an amateur YouTube video that was shot by your client. It’s another thing to have one of their own reaching out to a handful of insiders, pressing for answers. My relationship with you is hardly a secret among the agents I know. This whole situation isn’t good.”
“It was a risk we had to take,” Casey replied. “And don’t tell me to back down, because I won’t. The FBI can join the crowd who’s watching us. At least we know they won’t shoot to kill.”
“Very funny.” Hutch scowled. “I’m not even going to try to talk you out of it, because I’d be wasting my breath. But I can’t be a part of it, either-except to worry about you.”
“Fair enough.” Casey was as blunt as he was. “By the same token, I can’t pass along another shred of information to you. I’ve already done enough damage to my client by telling you as much as I did. But from here on in, you’re out of the loop.”
“Fine.” Hutch was still scowling. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
“Aren’t you due back in Quantico in a day or two?”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
Casey attempted a smile, but didn’t manage to pull it off. “Nope. You’re too good in bed.”
“I’m not laughing, Casey.” Hutch’s jaw tightened another notch. “I don’t know who all the key players are here. But you could be walking into a minefield.”
“Then let’s hope I tread carefully. Because I’m finding Paul Everett.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
John Morano was in the process of setting up his replacement computer system, trying to make it fit within the confines of the narrow trailer he’d hastily bought as a substitute office, when Lyle Fenton walked in.
“Good. You’re not missing a beat,” Fenton pronounced, marching inside. “I like that in the people I do business with.” As he spoke, Fenton glanced out the side window of the trailer, nodding in approval as he scanned the close proximity of the bay. “Smart idea to stay put. From experience, I know it’s important to be on-site. It keeps the construction crew on their toes.”
“I didn’t stay put,” Morano said, angling his computer monitor. “I moved to the other side of the marina. The stench of burned wood and gasoline were more than I could take. Plus, that area is a crime scene.”
“I didn’t mean that literally.” Fenton had that hard edge to his voice-and it was unsettling enough for Morano to stop what he was doing and straighten up to regard Fenton.
“Sorry if I’m grouchy,” he apologized. “It wasn’t exactly the best night of my life.”
“I assumed not.”
“So what brings you by?” Morano attempted a weak smile. “Did you bring me a housewarming present?”
Fenton didn’t smile back. “The news reports said that the police are ruling this arson.”
“It was pretty much a no-brainer,” Morano replied. “So is trying to figure out who did it.”
No change in expression. “The mob.”
A shaky nod. “I shut them down, told them I wasn’t paying up anymore. So they gave me an unmistakable warning. Hey, at least they didn’t kill me-yet.”
“You’re being very flippant, under the circumstances.”
“Flippant?” Morano’s voice was hollow. “I’m a nervous wreck. Yeah, I anticipated they’d do something. Their flunky made sure to tell me that during our last visit. I just didn’t know what they had in mind. Now I do. The only good thing is that the cops, who wouldn’t do a fucking thing until now, are sending out extra patrol cars to police the area and to keep an eye on my apartment. Those are the only two places I plan on being. No detours for me-not for a long time.”
“It took balls to provoke them the way you did,” Fenton stated. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. Which is it?”
“Neither. I was being squeezed to the point where I couldn’t breathe.” Morano looked like a trapped bird. “Believe me, I’m not suicidal. But I’m not a multimillionaire, either. I don’t have the kind of money they’re demanding. Do I keep wondering if this is what happened to Paul Everett, and that, when he put on the brakes, he wound up dead? Damned straight I do.”
“I would, too.” Fenton was never one to sugarcoat things. “That’s why I hired round-the-clock security for you.”
“What?”
“You asked why I came by. I came by to protect my investment. I don’t know what the hell happened to Paul Everett, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. You and I just signed a contract-a very lucrative one for me. I don’t plan on seeing you get killed. The cops can’t watch you 24/7-there aren’t enough tax dollars for that. So I’m taking care of it. You’ll have eyes on you at all times until this hotel is finished and up and running.”
