Chapter 8
Eight
Cam pushed open the hotel room door with his hip, careful to keep the box of doughnuts balanced on his one hand and not lose his grip on the hand truck he was hauling with the other.
Jamie hustled over, relieving him of the doughnuts and opening the door wider so Cam could roll in the stack of boxes. “What are those?”
“My case files.”
“On Erin’s disappearance?”
He nodded. “Had them in a storage unit here.”
Cam dropped the boxes in front of the long, narrow desk that stretched the length of the suite’s living area. His mom’s books were stacked underneath it and taped to the walls above were giant poster-sized sheets of paper.
Jamie handed him a mug of coffee, then dropped into the chair in front of his laptop. “Give me two minutes to finish setting up.”
“You know . . .” Cam shoved half a doughnut in his mouth, chewed, and washed it down with the coffee. “I’m surprised this isn’t like the movies where you throw around a computer screen projection with your hands.”
Jamie waved the hand not working a mouse. “Work with what we got.”
Scarfing down the rest of the doughnut, Cam stood next to him and read the title of each sheet taped to the wall.
Timeline. Victim. Suspects. Evidence. Additional Notes.
Faced with it all again, the doughnut settled like a brick in Cam’s stomach. His discomfort must have shown.
“Last time I’ll ask,” Jamie said, leaning back in his chair. “Are you sure about this?”
Looking at those sheets again, Cam had a moment of doubt. Did he really want to dive back into this mess? Into his worst failure? He glanced again at the books beneath the desk. He didn’t have a choice. “It’s what Mom needs.”
“Okay.” Jamie grabbed a doughnut and a marker. “Let’s see how far we get before you’re due back at the hospital.”
As they worked their way through the timeline first, Cam couldn’t help remembering each wrong decision he’d made the day Erin disappeared.
His dad’s boat had been stuck out on the water with mechanical issues, and his mom had had to leave twelve-year-old Erin at the library.
Cam was supposed to pick her up, but Bobby had told him about a chance to score some real cash.
He’d been saving up for a car, embarrassed to pick up his dates in the family junker.
It was only dusk, so he’d figured Erin would be safe walking home.
He’d told her as much when he’d called the library.
He’d also told her to tell Mom that Cam had picked her up and dropped her off, just like he was supposed to do.
Erin had been hesitant, but Cam had bribed her with the promise of a cream horn pastry.
Erin had left the library, forgetting her library card at the checkout desk, and old man Wilkinson had seen her two streets from the house, cutting down the alley they always took to sneak in the back door.
She’d never made it home, and Cam hadn’t eaten a cream horn in the twenty years since.
A black hole in the timeline and no clues at the scene to help fill it.
No sign of a struggle—no blood or pulled hair or ripped clothing.
She’d either known her attacker, been forced to cooperate, or been drugged.
There had also been no security cameras to catch it on tape and no witnesses to say what they might’ve seen other than Mr. Wilkinson, who was now deceased.
She’d vanished into thin air. Assumed kidnapped, then when she hadn’t been found after two years, presumed dead.
The possibility remained, albeit small and unthinkable, that Erin had simply left, but she’d had no reason to do that. She’d been a happy kid, loved her family, and, on the phone with Cam that afternoon, had been reticent to walk home alone. Those were not the signs of a runaway.
Unfortunately, there were few other signs either.
As he and Jamie filled in the suspect list next, their leads continued to dwindle.
They cross-checked each potential suspect who’d been identified in the past investigation and crossed out more than half of them as dead or in jail, including several members of rival B&E crews.
It was a harsh reminder of where Cam and Bobby could have ended up if they hadn’t gotten their shit together.
By the time lunch rolled around, he and Jamie were eating white clam pizza and flipping through his mother’s books again, looking for any new leads.
Most of her notes were information Cam and other detectives had collected and discarded over the years.
Tips, interviews, wild shots in the dark.
A mother, just like a brother, desperate for clues, but the tangential rarely connected to the concrete.
With a frustrated groan, Cam tossed aside the book in his hand and lay back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. “What did she think we’d find in these?”
When Jamie didn’t reply, Cam lolled his head his direction. All of Jamie’s focus was on the book in his hand. “What are these?” he asked, turning the book to Cam and holding open the front cover.
“Character names,” Cam answered. “From the book. She used to write them there so she could keep the family tree straight.”
“But these don’t match.” He tapped with his index finger, holding the cover open. “The listed names are not the characters’ names.”
“They can be for the series, not just that one book.”
Jamie shook his head. “Cam, listen to me, none of them match. And they’re all female.”
Cam righted himself and reached for the book he’d earlier tossed aside.
It was the typical family tree sort in that one, but in the next book he grabbed from the stack, it was a nonconforming list like Jamie’s.
“The names in this one don’t match either.
And I recognize some of them.” Especially the ones that had been crossed through.
“They’re missing persons cases that we evaluated and discarded as—” Cam froze at the name halfway down the page, a line struck through it.
“What is it?” Jamie said.
He turned the book around, open, and held it out to Jamie. “Anyone’s name look familiar?”
Jamie’s eyes widened at the halfway mark, same as his had. “Holy shit, Rebecca Wright? Is that the same Rebecca Wright from the case last spring?”
“I think so. I remember an old missing persons report in her file.”
Twisting, Jamie grabbed his laptop and brought it to his lap, fingers flying across the keyboard.
Cam scooted to his side and waited for the search to run.
Mentions of the heist case dominated until Jamie added “Boston or Massachusetts” to the search parameters.
On page two of the refreshed results, they got a hit.
A missing persons report filed in Waltham, and it was their Becca all right.
Same jet-black hair, same dark eyes, same cocky, confident expression.
“Did you know she was from around here?”
Cam shook his head. “No, she didn’t have an accent at all.” That said, her ex-girlfriend was a linguistics expert. “She was reported missing when she was fourteen.”
“Only two years older than Erin. She didn’t ping the investigation?”
Cam shook his head. “We didn’t connect her to the case because she was found shortly thereafter. A runaway.”
“Well, your mother did for some reason.”
“Mom was making lists too,” Cam said. “Of similar cases.”
“And crossing out the names on girls who were found, like Becca. Do you recognize the other names? The ones not crossed out?”
Most but not all of them. And those were Cam’s first real lead in twenty years.
A stack of work was waiting for Nic when he returned to his office Monday morning—some of his own cases, some of Bowers’s—including a motion he had to argue on less than an hour’s prep.
Even flying by the seat of his pants, it felt good to be back in his home courthouse, the judges and clerks happy to see him again.
Outside the courthouse though, he couldn’t say for certain whether the tall, suited Black man standing in the sun at the bottom of the steps was happy to see him.
But then that hard, take-no-bullshit scowl broke into a gleaming white smile and the man was transformed.
Morphing from imposing federal agent to an absurdly attractive man who knew how to flash that smile to get exactly what he wanted, including a Bureau Assistant Director’s position.
Helped that Elton Moore was also supremely competent at his job.
“You think they appreciate weather like this in San Diego when they have it year-round?” Moore spread his arms, showing off his massive wingspan.
The guy did not look like a bureaucratic desk jockey.
“You’re right.” Nic made his way down the courthouse steps. “This is something only us Bay Area natives can truly appreciate.”
“That’s what I told my ex-wife. She moved back to Georgia where they have”—he curled his fingers for air quotes—“real seasons.”
“They can keep the snow.”
“Not gonna argue that one, Counselor.” He nodded to the courthouse behind Nic. “You win your motion?”
“Of course.”
Moore laughed, full and loud. “You always were a cocky son of a bitch.”
“Won you more than a few cases.”
“That you have.”
The chitchat was cordial—he and Moore always had been, each respecting the other’s talents—but Nic couldn’t help wondering what the Assistant Director was seeking him out for today.
A case? Or the case Nic wasn’t supposed to be working?
Only one way to find out. No use beating around the bush. “Something you need, El?”
“Walk with me.” Moore extended an arm toward the food trucks parked around UN Plaza. A little after noon, it wasn’t too crowded yet. “Pick your poison, Price?”
“I’ve got a staff meeting at one.”
“Just need fifteen minutes of your time.” The AD was obviously stewing over something. “Promise it’ll be worth it.”
They grabbed sushi burritos, and Nic followed Moore over to the water fountain.
Pigeons scattered as they claimed one of the empty concrete benches.
Nic didn’t miss the AD’s strategic choice of seats.
There were other people around—nothing to see here—but the fall of water from the fountain would make it impossible for anyone to eavesdrop on their conversation.
Nic unwrapped the foil from his burrito and took a bite, crunching through crispy daikon and pickled carrots and cucumbers to reach the rice and tempura shrimp, all the flavors mixing with the sriracha mayo.
He swallowed down the bite, then fixed Moore with his best questioning-the-witness stare. “What’s going on, El?”
“You tell me,” Moore said, throwing the inquisitor’s stare right back at him. “Why have you been meeting with your father’s executive assistant? And don’t tell me it’s a sudden interest in joining the family business.”
Nic couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped.
The corners of Moore’s eyes crinkled, letting on that he was fighting a knowing smile. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
Nic took another bite, deciding whether or not to trust the AD.
Aidan and Cam both did, the latter urging him to go to Moore, especially if Moore had more facts on Vaughn and Curtis that they could use.
At the same time, Moore was a skilled interrogator and an astute political climber, having played the game masterfully so far, becoming one of the youngest serving ADs.
Nic had to tread carefully. “You’ve got eyes on the family office? ”
Moore took a bite and nodded.
“My father too?”
Nodded again.
“Me?”
He swallowed and swiped a napkin across his mouth. “Not unless you’re suddenly getting into the family business. A source tells me you’re not.”
Nic let out a breath, relaxing. Ten to one he knew who that source was, and if she trusted Moore, if she had questioned him and come to that conclusion, including about this, then Nic trusted her instincts. “That source a certain bounty hunter of our mutual acquaintance?”
One side of Moore’s mouth hitched up. “Bail enforcement agent.”
Nic chuckled. “Sure, if that’s what we want to call her.”
Moore’s smile faded and he set his burrito aside. “You know what you’re getting into here, Price?”
“I think I’d know more if I saw the FBI’s file on the matter.”
Moore seemed to consider him now, deciding whether or not to trust him and Mel. Reaching the same conclusion Nic had, he withdrew a flash drive from his pocket. “Give that to Agent Hall. Should be what she needs to crack the encryption on the flash drives she copied last spring.”
Nic wiped off his hands before taking the jump stick. “Who encrypted them? Walker’s the only person I know who can outcode Hall.”
“And Walker would have given you the key.” That devastatingly handsome smirk reappeared. “Which is why I had Walker’s mentor at MIT encrypt them.”
“Why are you giving this to me?”
Moore leaned forward, forearms resting on his crossed legs.
“Because you’re a good attorney, Price. You were a good soldier too.
You don’t deserve to have your name dragged through the mud for something you didn’t do.
You need to be the one to shut it down, but you need to be careful. Vaughn has sources everywhere.”
Nic narrowed his eyes, parsing through the AD’s words. He didn’t want to offend but he had to ask. “Your office?”
Not offended in the least, Moore nodded. “Talley’s and Byrne’s conflicts weren’t the only reason access was restricted on this matter.”
“Do you know who?”
“No, we couldn’t figure it out, which is why I’m authorizing you to bring in Talley for the mole hunt. I don’t want that shark Vaughn infesting my waters.”
So this wasn’t just about helping him. Moore wanted to clean up his own shop too, to make sure the way was clear for his next step up the ladder.
Seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement to Nic. They both had skin in the game.
Nic pocketed the flash drive. “I was already planning to loop Aidan in.”
“Good,” Moore said. “But there’s a leak in your shop too.”
“I think I know who.” The same person who’d known where he’d be each of those times a threat had been leveled against him. The same person who had ridden his ass particularly hard as of late.
“Don’t be so sure.” Moore scooped up his leftovers and stood, Nic doing the same. “He was my first guess too, but we didn’t find anything to connect him. Some people like your boss are just assholes.”
If not Bowers, then who was the asshole helping Vaughn? That’s what Nic needed to find out before the gangster decided threats were no longer enough.