I flashed my badge. “We’re here to see Ian Harrison."
“Do you have an appointment?" she asked.
"It's urgent. I think he’ll want to speak to us.”
The receptionist dialed his extension. "Mr. Harrison, two deputies are here to see you. They say it's urgent." She paused and listened intently to his response. "I'll tell them." She hungup the phone, then addressed me. "He's just down the hall," she said, pointing, "Last door on the right."
I smiled with appreciation, and we walked past the desk and down the hall, moving past other offices that had ocean views.
We reached Ian's office, and I knocked on the door, which was open.
He sat behind his desk on a phone call, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the teal waves beyond. He waved us in and got off the phone. “I’ll call you back.”
The office was nice and stylish. Leather-bound legal tomes lined bookshelves. There was a couch, a coffee table, chairs, and a flatscreen display mounted to the wall. A minibar with soda, bottled water, and snacks provided in-meeting refreshments.
Ian stood up and extended his hand across the desk. "Gentlemen, I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you again, but I suppose the circumstances aren't exactly joyful."
We shook hands.
"Please, have a seat," he said, offering the chairs across the desk from him.
We obliged.
"Working late?”
"Work never ends," he said with a smile. "What can I do for you?”
He sat down and leaned back against his chair.
This was an upscale office that catered to upscale clients. A small boutique firm that handled corporate elite in matters involvinginsider trading, wire fraud, tax evasion, SEC investigations, FINRA compliance violations, and crisis management issues.
"I'm not sure if you're aware, but Landon Walsh was killed earlier today," I said.
I surveyed him carefully as a solemn frown tugged his face. "Terrible news. My wife called earlier to let me know." He shook his head. "I just got off the phone with a friend, talking about it. We’re all in shock. Please tell me you have some leads. Is this connected to Cameron’s shooting? Should I be concerned?"
"I think you should be very concerned," I said.
Momentary panic filled his eyes. "What do you think the connection is?"
"I think you know what the connection is."
Ian's nervous eyes flicked between the two of us. "I'm sorry, I don't follow. You think this is connected to the Sarah Sweet case?"
There was no doubt in my mind that he’d just gotten off the phone with Holden. He knew exactly why we were here. But he was playing dumb.
I slid the copy of Wesley’s letter across the desk to him.
Ian looked at it for a moment with trepidation, then back at me. Then he picked up the letter. He unfolded it and skimmed through, but he already knew what it said. "Wesley clearly wasn’t in his right mind when he wrote this.”
"Funny, that's what Holden said.”
"The case is closed."
"The case is being reopened.”
His face tightened. "You would need substantially more evidence than this to bring charges. With Wesley's history of drug use and mental instability, this will get tossed. Hearsay. How do we know it's even authentic?”
"Once that gets authenticated, and I believe it will, it will be admissible hearsay, since Wesley is deceased and cannot testify. It could be considered a dying declaration.”
