“Oh, goodness no. I just wanted a nice lunch to celebrate a good morning without the reminder that we have to go back for a hard afternoon.”
“Okay.” I look back at Tinsley and Claire. “Do you think they’re going to keep me overnight?”
“No. Not at all. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be under constant surveillance.” Marci and I get in the Suburban and ride back to the federal building. “But, when the feds go to trial, they have a ninety-eight-percent conviction rate because they make sure everything lines up. And right now, we have enough to cast a lot of doubt. They have to fix some holes—including the email issue.”
I breathe a little better.
“If you didn’t know you owned all those domains, how did they know?” she asks me.
I shrug. “That’s an excellent question. That part of the company is Claire’s area. Plus, I hardly know my own email address because I mostly use texting or instant message. I don’t email except from my laptop in the office.”
She nods. “The geo-tag is Lewiston, Montana, but I’d also bet it’s a laptop, not a smartphone that sent those messages. They’ll have to disclose where in Lewiston, and I’ll ask why someone would drive in to use public Wi-Fi when they have a network at home that works more than fine.”
“I never worked in Lewiston, and they’ll have a hard time coming up with anyone who knew me to say otherwise. Due to security issues, we only work on highly encrypted routers. We have memos out to all our staff about not using public Wi-Fi at this point.”
Marci scribbles on her pad and taps her pen to her lower lip. “The biggest hole is where is Heather McCoy?”
“So, there’s going to be a black cloud hanging over me for a while?”
“Maybe. I’m betting on Jim’s team to find her. If she’s alive and never had a baby, we know you’re in the clear. If they find her body and she’s not breathing, this is more than a black cloud.”
We pull up to the federal building and head inside for the afternoon’s round two.
Chapter 37
Tinsley
When Marci and Landon return shortly after four, I’m instantly relieved. I didn’t realize how worried I was until I saw him. His tie is askew, and his shirt is opened. His hair is disheveled, and he looks exhausted. I race into his arms.
“I bet you’re disappointed to not get my apartment to yourself for a few nights,” he teases.
“Not in the least,” I counter.
Claire squeezes his arm. “How did it go?”
“He was spot on,” Marci assures us. “We discussed most of the issues they asked about over lunch, and he answered everything as he was supposed to. He did great.”
We stand around and chat for a few minutes, and Marci takes off her shoes and stretches her toes. “I hate these shoes,” she says in apology. “I should know better, but walking all over the federal building does me in.”
A little while later, Landon is clearly ready to go, so we wander downstairs with Greg and Yolanda nearby. Claire gives us both hugs and is on her way, and I climb into the back of the car with Landon.
“What happened this afternoon?” I ask. “Did it really go okay?”
“They’re convinced I paid someone to do it.”
“Why would her accusation matter?” I muse. “We were involved, and you told me what was going on. I wasn’t upset. I didn’t leave you over it.”
Landon puts his head back on the seat and rubs his eyes. “I know. But there are emails from the faulty email address—a lot of them and all full of threats.”
I lay my head on his chest, and I can hear his heartbeat as he puts his arm around me.
“I swear I didn’t touch her. Sure, I’ve been upset about the impact of the situation on my company and my relationships, but I never once considered harming her. All communications went through Fiona. I figured we’d face this when she had the baby.”
“I’ve seen how you react to stress,” I tell him. “This was an irritant. I know I sound like a broken record, but we’ve managed this. I don’t believe you have a violent bone in your body.”
When we get back to the apartment building, we shuffle out of the car and into the elevator. “What should we have for dinner?” I ask. “I want something decadent. How about pizza or maybe Mexican?”
Landon shrugs. “I’m fine with whatever you want.”
“Okay.” I look at Yolanda and Greg. “What do you guys feel like? I’m buying.”
We decide on Mexican. San Francisco isn’t known for good Mexican food, but I know a little place, and they’ll deliver, so we’re in for a treat.
While we wait, Landon sorts through the mail, still in his suit with his crooked tie. He picks up a package and looks at it funny. “Did you order anything from a company called Acme?”
“No. Isn’t that the Roadrunner’s company?”
“Maybe.” He shakes it. “I’m nervous about opening this. What if someone sent me something like Heather’s finger?”
“Let’s get Yolanda and Greg in here before you open it. We can film it, just in case.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
Yolanda brings her cell phone in and has Jim on the screen, watching. I’m recording, and we all agree to start.
With a knife, Landon slowly slits the tape around the box. His hands are shaking. He clears away bubble wrap and pulls out a black rubber ring. His brow furrows.
Suddenly I know what the box is. “This is personal,” I announce. “Put it away.”
But Landon has already reached into the box again. This time he pulls out a vibrator designed to go vaginally and anally
