sure wouldn’t cut it here, nor would her kin.
She smiled wider. “Mr. Fleischer, please?”
“I will see if he’s available. Please be seated.”
She sat, watched where the butler went. Checked her watch. Ten minutes passed and she followed the same path. Almost immediately the butler emerged from down the hall.
“Ms. Resnick, I’m sorry, only students and employees are allowed beyond this point.”
“Special Agent Resnick,” she corrected, “and I need to speak with Mr. Fleischer now or I’ll be back this afternoon with a warrant. And I won’t be smiling.”
“I don’t threaten easily, Special Agent Resnick.”
“And I don’t make idle threats.”
“What is this regarding?”
How to play it? Vigo had given her so little information, but apparently she had learned something juicy from Morton.
“Trevor Conrad.”
The cadaver of a butler paled, if that was possible. “Wait.”
He left again, but less than a minute later he returned and escorted her to a parlor. Not the headmaster’s office, but private. Progress.
George Fleischer entered by another door, younger than she expected. If he was sixty, she’d eat her badge. He had dark, graying hair, was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, and his eyes were clear blue and focused.
For the first time she felt a tad nervous. She had no authority to be here. But if he even smelled that she was hesitant, she wouldn’t get the answers Vigo needed.
“Mr. Fleischer, thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy day to-”
“Stop the game. What’s going on?”
“I don’t-”
“You come in here and drop a name and expect us to jump through hoops? I demand an answer or I will call your superior.”
“Fine. Call him. I’ll wait.”
He hesitated. Call his bluff.
“Perhaps you don’t know that there is a warrant out for the arrest of one of your former students, Roger Morton.”
“I didn’t.”
Liar.
“And in the course of investigating his whereabouts, I learned that he may be in contact with some of his old friends from this school. I was speaking with Charles Morton and-”
Fleischer’s head shot up higher, if that was possible. “You spoke with Mr. Morton?”
“Yes, this morning. And he suggested that I come out here for answers. He’s still angry with what happened with his son.”
“His son was reinstated in school and graduated with his class. Mr. Morton has no cause-”
“He’s not upset with the school. He and his son are estranged. He told me his closest friends were Paul Ullman, Adam Scott, and Trevor Conrad.”
Fleischer nodded. “That would be my recollection.”
“You would have a recollection about friendships formed nearly two decades ago?”
“You don’t know Stonebridge Academy, do you? We are a premiere school for young men age five to eighteen. Our students go to the top universities; they are from the best families in the world-we have a prince from the Middle East among our students. The brightest and the wealthiest. I’ve been here for nearly thirty years. Roger Morton was nine when I took this post. I know him and his friends.”
“Do you know why the FBI is looking for Morton?”
“I’ve heard.”
“And we believe he’s working with one of his old pals. We know where Ullman is.”
“And you know Conrad died.”
“What I want to know is why did you reinstate Morton and Ullman, but not Adam Scott?”
Fleischer looked distinctly uncomfortable. She had him. “A witness indicated that Mr. Scott was the ring- leader. He was the oldest, and he claimed responsibility for the accident.”
“So it was an accident?” She raised an eyebrow to show that she didn’t believe him, and to give him a chance to explain. She didn’t know how Trevor Conrad had died.
“We had no reason to believe otherwise. A thorough investigation proved that the boys had been experimenting-yes, against school rules-and the laboratory exploded. An accident.”
“But it wasn’t reported to the authorities.”
“No need. We take care of these things internally.” That might explain why Conrad’s records had been expunged and therefore his name not on her original list.
“So because Scott was the instigator, he was kicked out.” She made notes. “I need his most recent picture.”
“I can’t give you that.”
“I’ll be back with a warrant in four hours.”
She turned.
“Wait. Just wait.”
He left. Ten minutes later he came back with a thin file. “Photo, last-known address, and parents. That’s all I can give you without a warrant, Ms. Resnick.”
“Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Fleischer. It’s been a real pleasure.”
TWENTY
QUINN PETERSON SLAMMED down the receiver after Hans Vigo called him about what he’d learned. As soon as they found Lucy Kincaid, someone was going to pay for the botched undercover operation.
What was Jeff Merritt thinking when he sent Mick Mallory deep undercover? Mick had been a damn good agent at one time, but when his wife was killed three years ago he’d developed a death wish. He was technically on psychiatric leave and Merritt had no business bringing him in on this case.
But more important than that, they now had a line on Trask’s real identity. The agent Vigo had tagged to quietly work the investigation had uncovered huge news.
Merritt walked into the task force room without knocking. “What is so damn important that you demanded I drop a conference call with Virginia?”
Quinn knew he had to tread lightly. Merritt had his emotions involved and that was never good. Quinn knew that from firsthand experience.
“I have a line on Trask’s identity.”
Merritt couldn’t keep the shock off his face. “And?”
“We think he’s a friend of Roger Morton from grade school. Morton went to an elite boarding school in Connecticut. His father is a big shot, old money-”
“I know all about Morton. I interviewed the father myself. He has no idea who his son is running with. He disowned him, and our people know Roger Morton has never been home.”
Quinn took a deep breath. “Did you ever interview the headmaster from the boarding school?”
“Why? He graduated nearly twenty years ago. Paige was killed five years ago.”
“Dillon Kincaid read over all the files and he-”
“You mean the doctor I’m
“He’s aiding and abetting a known criminal.”
“Are you talking about Kate?”
