What they found on the second floor tore the seasoned operators apart. Evidence of theft. Evidence of women raped and murdered. Evidence of women sold into slavery.
Noah called out from the end of the hall. “You need to see this.” The Van Gogh was left out in the open.
“Show me you were here, sweetheart.” Ian looked at the computer, where an icon for a live feed blinked on the desktop. He rewound the recording and pressed play. Cassie crawled to the window and vomited; her hair glued to her face by sweat. “She was here.” He touched her image on the screen.
He played the movie Cassie left in the reader, dated a year earlier. When Robby Bynum deposited a girl on the bed, and Sebastian stripped off her clothing, Ian covered his mouth with his hand. A stroke of a key froze the frame. Martin stood stiff as a board behind him as Bradford Whitman, Alexander Marshall, and Robert Bynum Sr. came into view.
Ian turned away. “Tate, stay with the building. Get Zach and Bruce here to help. I’ll notify Metro. Noah, call your dad and give him a heads up. Martin, I need their locations now.”
* * *
Cassie awoke at six and rushed to the bathroom, her head spinning. She dug in her pocket for the meds. She broke the last bit of pill in half and let the quarter dissolve in her mouth. After dressing, she grabbed the map, ledgers, and recordings.
In the gas station across the street, she bought a cold Coke, a bag of pretzels, and a package of Unisom, then returned to the motel to make some calls. The first one went to Whitman, Tyler, and Bates. “Hi, this is Susie. I’m looking for Bradford Whitman.” Cassie used her best phone-sex operator voice.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Whitman is not in. I can put you through to voicemail.”
“Oh my. No, I need to find him. It’s about his son.”
“Mr. Whitman is not coming in today, but he has a standing lunch date with Mrs. Whitman at the Army Navy Club for twelve-thirty this afternoon.”
Cassie repeated a similar ruse at Claudia Marshall’s store. This time, she was a big buyer who needed special services. For the senator, she impersonated a Secret Service agent confirming his calendar. The three couples were all going to be in one place. Once she took care of them, she would go after Mark Devereaux.
* * *
The estate house was tense, and Ian’s temper was growing shorter. There had been no sightings of Cassie. The police reported a break-in at an electronics store in Fairfax that was odd because the thief left money on the counter. He was sure it was her.
Christian walked into the office. “The piece of garbage is downstairs. He’s still playing the worried family friend. My dad and yours just went to talk to him. I thought you’d want to watch.”
Luke and Declan started Mark Devereaux’s interrogation in a soft tone, with Declan asking, “You’ve known Cassie all her life. Why would she commit this fraud?”
Within an hour, with the help of the technical analysis reports on his finances, they had their confession. The only other person he gave up was Bynum Jr.
Ian returned upstairs, pacing like a caged lion. “Cassie has my wallet with about seven hundred dollars in it. Get a copy of Bynum’s calendar. Until she can get to them, she’ll go cheap and pay cash.”
The surveillance teams reported the three couples were out of their homes, making multiple stops. He was sure she was going after the six of them or Garett.
Kieran poured over bank statements, utility bills, and title searches while Brett searched motels and hotels. Then Kieran yelled, “I’ve got a beach house in Virginia Beach. Belongs to Cheyenne’s parents. I’ll send Mia and half of Bravo team. We might find Garett.”
“Send them.” Ian paced.
Martin handed Ian the missing tablet and the book Cassie was reading. “Found the tablet behind the toilet in the bathroom. I underestimated her. She switched SIM cards from the med tablet and signed on for thirty-seven seconds. That’s why no one picked it up. Open the book. I’m sorry.”
Ian unfolded two pieces of paper. The first was the sketch of the room in the Whitman’s house. Every face around her was now identifiable. It confirmed whom she was going after. The second was a sketch of him holding Cassie in his arms in the silhouette of a heart.
* * *
Four hours later, Mia arrived at the Virginia Beach summerhouse. The white clapboard building had stunning views, while smells of sea and sand heightened their senses. Once everyone was in position, she knocked on the front door. After no response, she found the door unlocked. The smell hit her first. Garett Whitman was hanging off the upstairs railing overlooking a blue and white living room.
“Damn. Look for a note.” Mia walked into the sunny yellow kitchen before calling Kieran’s phone, which Ian answered. “Sir, we found Garett Whitman. He’s dead. Looks like a suicide.”
Mia heard a crash in the background, and Kieran picked up the call. “Mia, go.”
“Whitman’s dead. Looks like a suicide. Here for at least a couple of days. We’re checking for a note.”
“Leave no evidence. Once you’re clear, make an anonymous call to the PD.
“Roger.” Mia ended the call.
