“I’ve already had you run background checks on everyone I thought might have done it-”
“I’ll run background checks on
Paxton reluctantly agreed. “Very well. I have a window as to when it went missing. I’ll get you my appointment books. But Sergio Russo already went through-”
“Sergio Russo isn’t me.”
“I’ll get you everything you need first thing in the morning.”
“Tonight.”
Sean was about to leave when he remembered what Lucy had said about the three murders. Paxton didn’t know that Wendy James was connected to the two prostitutes. But if the photos started this chain of events, that made Paxton indirectly responsible for all five deaths.
He couldn’t help but rub that in.
“Noah didn’t say anything to you, but the FBI is taking over the investigation into the murders at the Hotel Potomac. They’re connected to Wendy James. The same person who killed her also killed four other people. Think about that, Senator, since you don’t seem to regret what you did. If it were me-and it has been in the past-my fingerprints would never be on it. I’ve destroyed pricks like Alan Crowley. And no one will know who, because I don’t need to brag about my successes.”
Sean grinned, gloating. “Hope you get a good night’s sleep.”
Before he could walk out, Paxton said sharply, “Rogan!”
Sean turned around.
“Watch yourself. The statute of limitations isn’t quite up on one of your
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
After leaving the senator’s office, Noah called Rick Stockton directly and told him about Paxton’s confession.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a crime to expose an extramarital affair. The motive didn’t matter: Truth was almost always a defense.
Paxton seemed contrite that his clandestine release of the compromising photographs might have led to the murder of Wendy James. If he had known that his acts would result in a death, he could be culpable. It was a stretch, and proving it would be next to impossible. Noah didn’t know how many affairs were publicly exposed, but rarely did they end like that of Wendy James.
But Paxton was a politician, and Noah wasn’t sure how much of his sincerity was an act.
Noah needed to find the woman who called herself Ivy Harris, so he drove back to where she was last seen. He had reviewed what little they had on her-under both her alias and her real name.
Hannah Edmonds was one of three daughters of televangelist Kirk Edmonds. A widower, Reverend Edmonds had a successful ministry in Allegheny County in the northwest of Maryland. The closest city to his base was Cumberland, but the small unincorporated town he lived in had less than three hundred people, almost all of whom worked for Hope Ministries.
Noah could imagine that growing up in a small, sheltered religious community was the breeding ground for teenage rebellion, but faking a suicide seemed awfully sophisticated for a fourteen-year-old.
According to the records the local FBI office had on Hannah Edmonds, she’d been diagnosed bipolar manic- depressive when she was thirteen, after she first tried to kill herself. Eighteen months on a variety of medications seemed to be working, then her father learned she’d tricked the household staff and hadn’t been taking her medication at all.
There was a history of mental illness in the family. Hannah’s mother had killed herself and tried to kill her two youngest children. Hannah had been seven at the time. She and the baby, Sara, had miraculously survived when Marie Edmonds intentionally drove her vehicle into a security fence.
Noah didn’t have a lot of experience with mental illnesses like manic depression, but he knew enough to know that Hannah was dangerous to herself and others. If she felt trapped, scared, hopeless, what might she do to her sister? Could they believe anything she said?
He needed to get her into custody and have her evaluated. She seemed to be the one connection between everything that had happened since Monday-what if she was behind the deaths? What if she was working with an accomplice?
It seemed a stretch, considering that she’d been shot at after Lucy and Genie picked her up, but maybe that wasn’t what it appeared to be on the surface. Maybe her partner thought he was breaking her out of custody.
It didn’t feel right to him, but he had to focus on the facts, and right now, he didn’t know why Hannah Edmonds had changed her name, how or why her sister was in DC and whether she was truly kidnapped or ran away, or what Hannah’s relationship was with Wendy James or the other victims. All he had were statements, some which conflicted, from a sitting U.S. senator, a social worker, and a retired neighbor. There were a lot of facts, but few connections.
Noah retraced Lucy’s steps from the Hawthorne house to the crash site.
Genie’s car had already been pulled from the embankment and sat on the back of a flatbed tow truck. It would be transported to the FBI garage for forensic analysis and trace evidence, which had meant Noah had used a lot of fast-talking and arm-twisting to take custody of it from Metro. But someone had shot at a federal employee, and even though Genie was a DC cop, the federal government still had more resources to process the evidence.
It would be easy to match up the damage on the car with the van. But first they had to find it, and so far, nothing. He had the tech squad looking at traffic cams, but in this neighborhood, they were few and far between. He had them focusing on the major streets out of the area, but it was a labor-intensive project that often failed to yield results.
Where had Ivy gone? She disappeared as law enforcement arrived. She knew the area well. They still hadn’t found Jocelyn Taylor’s car which had last been seen when Ivy drove from the Hotel Potomac the night of the murders.
Or maybe she knew someone who lived in the area, someone who was willing to help her.
He went back to Hawthorne Street and knocked on Patricia Neel’s door. The elderly woman answered and smiled broadly, her reading glasses falling off her nose and hanging on a chain around her neck.
Noah held up his badge. “Mrs. Neel, I’m Agent Noah Armstrong with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He pocketed his identification. “We spoke earlier today on the phone.”
“Yes, about the theft.”
“Did my agent come by and take your statement?”
“Oh, yes, they just left. Would you like some lemonade? I made it for them, I have plenty.”
“No, thank you. I need to follow up on your statement earlier today to my colleague, Ms. Kincaid.”
“What a sweet young woman,” Mrs. Neel smiled broadly. “So polite.”
“Yes, ma’am. I have a few follow-up questions.”
“Would you like to come in? It’s really warm out here.”
“This won’t take long.” Noah suspected if he went inside it would be difficult to leave quickly. It was no surprise that Mrs. Neel had taken an interest in her young neighbors-she wanted someone to talk to.
“Do you know where Ivy might go to if she were in trouble and needed a place to stay?”
“She knew she could come to me.” She frowned. “I wish she’d just asked for the money. I would have given it to her.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She left a note. She’s not a bad person.”
The woman was repeating herself, and Noah feared he’d get nothing useful from her. This excursion was becoming a waste of time.
“Any other neighbors? Friends? A business she frequented? A church? School? A nearby library?”
“She liked to walk to that little church on Thirty-first. I can’t remember the name. Very small. But she walked
