“Let’s go inside,” he urged his mother. “I don’t want you to have to answer questions as to what was going on out here. We’ll just say you came out to hear if we had any updates. Then we’ll drop the subject and turn our attention to Kennedy and the day ahead.”
10
The Offices of Forensic Instincts
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
Marc’s office, 3rd floor
12:20 pm
Marc ended the bullshit meeting with SA Tricia Adams, and sat scowling at the blank computer screen.
Other than praising Shane as a fine human being and an even finer agent, Adams had dodged Marc’s carefully-worded questions. She’d claimed that she couldn’t recall specific BU employees with whom Shane had had a tight relationship, nor could she recall any stand-out cases their squad had been working on seven to eight years ago.
Effectively, she’d told Marc nothing.
Special Agent Groban had obviously prepped her, just as Marc and Patrick had predicated. Even though Marc had taken a very low key approach, she’d played an effective game of dodge ball. So had James Harkins, who’d answered Marc’s email by saying that, given he’d been out of the office for several days, he was backed-up with work and couldn’t schedule a Zoom meeting.
In short, Marc had hit the ultimate immoveable brick wall, making the whole FBI aspect of this investigation a dead end.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why—or rather, who.
Marc left his office and walked down to the first floor conference room, where Casey was reviewing some of Emma’s social media results.
“Bad time?” Marc asked, hovering on the threshold.
Casey sighed, ran a hand through her hair, and waved Marc in. “No. I’m trying to figure out who each of these handles belongs to, and coming up empty. I doubt I’ll get anywhere until I have more details from Emma, and ask the right questions of Ryan’s mom. I could definitely use a diversion.” Her brows rose in question. “Anything from Tricia Adams?”
Marc walked across the room, grabbed a mug of coffee, and sat down. “Nope. Not from her or from James Harkins, who emailed me back just to blow me off. Let’s cut to the chase. We’re not getting anything out of these BU employees or special agents—not the active, former, or retired ones. This time it’s Hutch who’s running the show. And he did an A+ job of shutting everyone down.”
“He’s too damned good at what he does,” Casey muttered. “And he knows only too well how my mind works—and how our team operates. As a result, on this investigation he and I are like two cats, facing off with our backs arched. I guess the honeymoon phase is over.”
Marc chuckled. “Not a chance. The honeymoon phase is a given with you guys. The problem is that, even though you’re ideally suited, you’re also too damned much alike. Both intense leaders who, in this case, are butting heads. With you and Hutch, that’s called marriage. It’s just the first time you’ve been truly pitted against each other.”
“Why doesn’t that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside?” Casey’s question was rhetorical, asked in a sarcastic tone. “What you’re telling me is that, no matter what approach FI takes, pursuing Shane’s FBI connections will yield a big, fat goose egg.”
“Yup. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“How encouraging.” Casey shook her head in frustration. “And, as I said, the social media end of things is still way up in the air. I’ve got nothing tangible.”
“Emma will give you more by tonight,” Marc reminded her. “And you’ll get to run all those names by Ryan’s mother tomorrow.”
“I hope I get the chance to do that before the media and the public at large read about Shane’s death, and Caitlin’s disappearance, and make the connection between the Walshes and the McKays. When that happens and word gets out that Kennedy is staying with her great-aunt and great-uncle, which we know it will, all hell will break loose in Woodlawn. Ryan’s parents’ house will be swarmed with nosy media mongers and curious folks from the neighborhood who have yet to be interviewed by the FBI. Plus, the agents assigned to the Walshes’ place will be ready and eager to question the McKays, the press will descend…Dammit.” Casey gave a hard shift in her chair, the motion causing her to wince and moan softly with pain.
She waved away Marc’s instinctive motion to help, fighting the pain—and losing. “I’m okay.” Even as she spoke, she sagged back in discomfort and fatigue. “Dammit. It’s not the time for me to slow down. Why can’t I just be back to myself already?”
“You will be—soon.” Marc took the bull by the horns, going straight for the diehard reality Casey refused to discuss or to allow herself to fully recall. “Case, we’re not talking about recovering from the flu,” he stated bluntly in a way that only he was allowed. “You were shot. You lost so much blood that you nearly died. Your spleen was removed. You spent days in the ICU. That was only three months ago. Cut yourself some slack. Try to have some patience. And look at how far you’ve come rather than at how far you still have to go.”
Eyes lowered, Casey gave a terse nod. “Message received. I’ll try. But I got nothing accomplished today and I have to leave in an hour and a half just to lie down and recoup my strength. This whole situation is driving me crazy.”
Marc downed the rest of his coffee and set down the mug, simultaneously rising to his feet. “I tell you what. I’m at a standstill. You’re at a standstill. I’ll take that ride to Shane and Caitlin’s house a little early, before that swarm of media mongers show up. As it is, I’ll have plenty of canvassing agents to avoid.”
He paused, pursed his lips. “I’ll park a few blocks away and walk. That area of New Rochelle has lots of trees between houses. I’ll weave my way through them and enter via the back door. Ryan gave me his keys, so it’s no problem. I’ll get what Claire needs and send you a text and photos before the car service comes to collect you. You can review it all as you ride home. You won’t be violating Hutch’s wishes. And you’ll be all ready for a preliminary discussion of this topic during our evening Zoom meeting, before Claire’s even seen the stuff. Plus, just my doing something will get our juices flowing—yours and mine. And who knows? It might just yield some results.”
Abruptly, Casey perked up. “Why don’t you take some time to discreetly chat with some of the Walshes’ neighbors yourself? People are psychologically more inclined to help family or friends than they are cops. Maybe you’ll find someone who saw or heard something they’d forgotten.” She waved away what she knew was about to be Marc’s protest. “Yes, I’m sure Hutch had a team do that already. But, again, they’re law enforcement. You’re a close friend of Shane’s cousin. Tell them how devastated Ryan is. Go for their heartstrings. That might make them remember something. I wish Ryan could do this himself, but he’s in no shape to do so. It’s up to you. And, yeah, Hutch won’t be happy. But what you’re doing is absolutely legal.”
A corner of Marc’s mouth lifted. “This is a first for me. I’m not usually the heartstrings type.”
