Lucy shouted from upstairs, “Sean!”
He took the stairs two at a time and almost ran right into Lucy as she stood in the doorway.
“I wasn’t sure you heard me,” she said.
“What happened?”
“Kirsten emailed Trey.” She strode over to the computer. “And he responded.”
Facebook threaded messages so you could see the original message and every response chronologically.
Kirsten had sent Trey a message at 7:58 a.m.
Trey,
I don’t know where to start. I’ve been sick. I didn’t even know it was Thursday until I woke up this morning. I’m better, but I sort of can’t walk right now.
It’s a long story, but I have no way of getting home. I lost my phone. Tell my mom that I’m OK. I have plenty of money and so, yeah.
I don’t know what to do! I’m too scared to go home but scared to stay, too. Isn’t that silly? Jessie’s message was all wrong! And who would hurt her? I think they know me but maybe not. But don’t tell anyone where I am! Please please please. My head is foggy and I can’t think. But it’s all weird here and the news in the paper doesn’t explain anything. I already miss her maybe it was my fault I don’t know anything.
Can you pick me up in New York when I figure out where I am? I’m somewhere very nice. It’s pretty and there’s a big bridge.
So sorry everything you were right I was stupid about everything I want to play softball but now I can’t I want to
Several of her sentences were incomplete, and her message ended there, unsigned. Trey had responded at 8:10 a.m. from his mobile phone:
Kirsten, are you still there? What’s wrong? I’m leaving for New York right now. Email or call me as soon as you get this message. Are you in the city? Which bridge? It’ll take me at least five hours to get there. I’ll let you know as soon as I arrive. T.
“He’s going to New York?” Sean was furious. “He promised he would call me if she contacted him!”
“I’m worried about her,” Lucy said.
“Because she was sick?”
“Read her message carefully. There’s a lot of information there, but she must have a fever or maybe she’s drugged.” Lucy frowned. “She left on Friday?”
Sean nodded. “Did you save that message?”
“Yes, I have a screen capture and I emailed it to myself.”
“She has a friend in New York, but when I tried the number it went straight to a generic voice mail. Patrick is running it now. She received a call from that cell number on Friday morning, and left Friday afternoon. She made several calls to the same number after she presumably arrived in New York.”
“Where is she staying?” Lucy asked, more to herself.
“She called a motel when she arrived in New York, but the clerk said he didn’t have her registered, under Kirsten or Ashleigh.”
“Did you describe her?”
“Didn’t get the chance. He hung up on me. I don’t think the motel has earned even one star.”
Lucy said, “Did you see this?
“As soon as I talk to Trey.” Sean dialed his number. The phone rang four times before bouncing to voice mail.
“Trey, I saw the message Kirsten sent you. Don’t be an idiot. Call me.”
Sean hung up. “Can we send Kirsten a message? A strange guy might scare her, but you-”
Lucy nodded. “I understand.” Lucy logged onto her own account and sent Kirsten a message with her contact information as well as some advice.
Call the police as soon as you can and tell them you need to be put in protective custody.
NINE
Suzanne and Detective Panetta had been sitting in the waiting room of CJB Investments for twenty minutes, watching the bustling staff. In the adjoining suite, the Barnett Family Trust offered grants and scholarships to young people for college or the arts.
Suzanne spoke in a low voice, reading information off her BlackBerry. “Wade Barnett is twenty-five, works for his brother, graduated from NYU two years ago. No federal record. You?”
“Two DWIs, that’s it. License suspended for a year. Some other stuff. Nothing official, but my boss said he’s been pulled in a couple times. Charges dropped.”
“On what?”
“Illegal gambling, drunk and disorderly at a nightclub when he was underage. A lot of spoiled rich kids get their hands slapped and sent on their way. The DWIs were more serious; they definitely stuck.”
“Where does he live?”
“Upper West Side.”
Suzanne said, “On the business side, the investment company is doing well. I put an inquiry into our White Collar Crimes Unit, and it looks like CJB is pretty clean. Ditto the charitable trust. According to my analyst, their last tax filing showed just over fourteen million in scholarships, with an operating budget of less than ten percent.”
“Good management. I don’t think it’s Wade Barnett.”
“CJ Barnett is the principal,” Suzanne said.
“We tread lightly, Suzanne,” Panetta reminded her. “The Barnett Trust is well respected.”
“I’m not looking to tarnish anyone’s reputation. Just want the truth.”
An attractive young female came out to the lobby. “Mr. Barnett is available now. May I bring you anything to drink? Water? Coffee? A glass of wine?”
Suzanne shook her head and Panetta just grinned. They walked into Barnett’s large corner office, which seemed incongruous with the rest of the office they’d seen. The expansive view of lower Manhattan was the first thing that struck Suzanne, followed by the opulent office space, which was bigger than her East Village apartment. The steel-gray carpets were soft and plush, the art trendy and local, and an entire wall a shrine to the New York Yankees. Being a Yankees fan scored Barnett points with Panetta. Suzanne preferred the Mets.
Wade Barnett was lounging on his couch talking on the phone. His feet were bare, and he wore simple khakis and an oxford-style shirt with a tie, sleeves rolled up. His brown hair was thick and shaggy, in one of those styles where he could step out of the shower looking good. His poise and style suggested he knew he was attractive.
“Gotta go, Jimmy. But we’re on for the Knicks tonight, right? I’ll swing by and pick you up at the bar in an hour.”
He hung up. “It’s not baseball, but it’ll pass the time until April,” he said.
Even Wade Barnett’s welcoming smile was charming, in an arrogant and privileged way.
“I’m Special Agent Suzanne Madeaux with the FBI. This is NYPD Detective Vic Panetta. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us. We hope you’ll be able to help with a case we’re working.”
“Shoot.” He sat up straight and grabbed a baseball off the table, tossing it between his hands. “Sit, please. What can I do?”
Suzanne and Panetta sat in leather chairs across from Barnett. Panetta said, “We came to you because we heard you were familiar with underground parties in the city.”
Barnett frowned. “I don’t care to talk about that.”
Suzanne knew they would lose him quickly if they were too rigid. She said, “We’re not here about the parties specifically, we’re here about a murder. And because you’re in the know about the parties. I don’t really care at this point if you’re the one setting them up. What I
