“I did,” Caleb said.
“Under what authority?”
“Independent investigation.”
“Independent.” She said the word like she was tasting something sour. “Mr. Rourke, I’m looking at surveillance records and financial intercepts that no civilian should have access to. Either you’re lying, or you’re working for an agency that doesn’t appear on any chart I’ve seen.”
“The provenance of my methods is irrelevant to the validity of the evidence.”
“That’s a nice line. Did you rehearse it?”
“Several times.”
She turned to Lila. “Ms. Bennett. The daughter of the surveyor who died.”
“Daniel Bennett. He was murdered.”
“The official cause was cardiac arrest.”
“The official cause was signed by a medical examiner on Warren Caldwell’s payroll.” Lila’s voice was steady. “Agent Holloway, my father spent the last year of his life documenting a pattern of land fraud. He was killed because he wouldn’t stop looking. I picked up where he left off. Everything Mr. Rourke has shown you is built on my father’s work.”
Holloway studied her. “I believe you. And if half of this is accurate, we’re looking at a RICO case. But I can’t use tainted evidence. If your methods don’t survive a motion to suppress, the whole case collapses.”
“Use our package as probable cause,” Caleb said. “Get your own warrants. Execute your own searches. The roadmap is drawn. You just need to drive it.”
Holloway looked at the files. At the laptop screen. At the three people sitting across from her.
“When do you need the arrests?”
“Saturday morning,” Ronan said. “Before the centennial.”
“That’s three days.”
That’s right.
Holloway stood. Picked up the top folder. Opened it, scanned the first page, set it down.
"Stay reachable," she said finally. "Both of you. I'll have more questions before this is over." She left without shaking anyone’s hand.
Ronan exhaled. “She’ll do it.”
“You’re sure?” Lila asked.
“She took the folder. An agent who’s going to say no leaves the evidence on the table.”
They were forty minutes outside Tampa when Lila spotted the car.
"That sedan's been behind us since we got on the highway."
Ronan checked the mirror. Gray Nissan, two cars back. Tinted windows.
"Could be coincidence."
"Could be." Her voice was tight. "But I don't believe in coincidences anymore."
He changed lanes. The sedan changed lanes.
He slowed. The sedan slowed.
