Casey and Hutch’s home office
7:30 pm
The FI team, sans Ryan and Claire, but plus John, signed onto the Zoom meeting promptly.
“Hi guys,” Casey began. “It’s good to connect up.”
“How do you feel?” Marc asked, not revealing to the rest of the team just how bad Casey had been earlier. “Did you get rest and eat dinner?”
“Both,” she replied. “And thanks for the photos. I assume you shared them with the rest of the team.”
Marc nodded. “All except Claire and Ryan. Today was a day to respect their privacy. And they’ll see the actual items first thing in the morning.”
“That was the right thing to do.” Casey leaned forward with great interest. “I’m sure you also told the team you were canvassing the Walshes’ neighborhood. Did you elaborate on what you learned?”
“Nope. Not without you there.” Focused on his laptop screen, he pulled up his notes and then screen-shared them with the team. “I’ll store these notes in the cloud right after we talk. Here’s the scoop: The whole group of residents in the Marigold Terrace area were incredibly sympathetic and understanding about my questioning them even though the FBI had already done so. They expressed their condolences and tried hard to recall anything suspicious. The majority of them couldn’t recount any more than they already had. Two of them provided some input. As luck would have it, neither were home when the FBI made its rounds.”
“Excellent.” Casey was reading Marc’s meticulous notes closely as he spoke.
“Let’s start with Norma Holbrook. A middle-aged homemaker. Lives at 25 Marigold Terrace, half a block away from the Walshes. Spends a lot of time in her front garden, pruning her hydrangea to perfection.” Marc’s lips twitched.
“So she has a bird’s eye view of everything that goes on,” Emma said.
Marc nodded. “Yup. Especially Shane. She was very impressed with the fact that he was FBI. So she noticed him—a lot. She told me she’d seen him come home twice this past week in the middle of the day, which was highly unusual for him. In addition, on both occasions he was on edge when he got out of the car, glancing up and down the block before walking into his house. Each time, he stayed about an hour, then hurried off.”
“He was making sure he hadn’t been followed,” Patrick surmised aloud. “Plus, it sure sounds as if whatever he was investigating, he wanted it done in private—outside the walls of the field office.” A long, drawn-out pause. “Do you think he was investigating something on his own? And, if so, what?”
“That’s a good question,” Casey said with a nod. “And if he was, was it a private matter or did he mistrust someone at the Bureau?” Her brows drew together. “What about Caitlin? Was she at home? Or didn’t this Mrs. Holbrook notice?”
“Oh, she noticed,” Marc assured him. “And, yes, Caitlin’s car was parked in the driveway—and Shane’s on the street—on both occasions.”
“Wow.” Emma’s eyes were wide. “This is starting to sound like a spy thriller.”
“Don’t jump the gun,” Casey warned her. “This is all supposition.” She glanced at the notes Marc had shared on their screens. “What about the second person you talked to—George Rainley?”
“Rainley is a retired widower, who lives at 35 Durling Street—a block away from Marigold Terrace. He walks his dog three times a day, passing the Walshes’ house each time. One day last week around lunchtime, he noticed Caitlin sitting on her front doorstep, drinking her coffee and quietly weeping. He stopped and asked her if he could help, but she politely refused, thanking him for his offer and then going back into her house.”
“More inexplicable drama,” Casey said.
Marc nodded. “I could have continued interviewing neighbors, maybe covering another block or two. But I didn’t want to push my luck. There was still a limited FBI presence in the area. I had no desire to tempt fate. So I jumped into my car and headed back to the office.”
“Nice work,” Casey commended. “We can always pursue this further once the Bureau directs their investigation elsewhere.”
“Yeah, we can…carefully,” Marc amended. “For all we know, the agents acquired enough vital information to go back. Let’s cool our heels for a while, Case.”
She gave him a reluctant nod. “You’re right…unfortunately.” With that, she turned her attention to Patrick and John. “Anything worthwhile to report in your neck of the woods?”
John wiggled his hand in a so-so gesture. “Nothing momentous—yet. But I did reconnect with several of my former colleagues, who are going to do some internal digging around for me. Plus, I’ve got dozens of feelers out, some of whom I hope to hear back from tonight. It’s a solid start.”
Once again, Casey nodded. “Yes it is. Several can snowball into many. We knew this was going to take time. And, as you just heard, patience is not my virtue. But keep going as quickly and effectively as you can.”
“Will do.”
“Speaking of Marc’s concerns, we’ve been ordered off making contact of any kind with BU-related personnel, past and present, and of doing anything else that could be regarded as impeding a federal investigation.”
Marc’s bit back a grin. “Tell Hutch he’s made his point.”
“I did,” Casey answered flatly. “We’ll do the best we can.”
