“But it wasn’t reported to the authorities.”
“No need. We take care of these things internally.” That might explain why Conrad’s records had been expunged and therefore his name not on her original list.
“So because Scott was the instigator, he was kicked out.” She made notes. “I need his most recent picture.”
“I can’t give you that.”
“I’ll be back with a warrant in four hours.”
She turned.
“Wait. Just wait.”
He left. Ten minutes later he came back with a thin file. “Photo, last-known address, and parents. That’s all I can give you without a warrant, Ms. Resnick.”
“Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Fleischer. It’s been a real pleasure.”
TWENTY
QUINN PETERSON SLAMMED down the receiver after Hans Vigo called him about what he’d learned. As soon as they found Lucy Kincaid, someone was going to pay for the botched undercover operation.
What was Jeff Merritt thinking when he sent Mick Mallory deep undercover? Mick had been a damn good agent at one time, but when his wife was killed three years ago he’d developed a death wish. He was technically on psychiatric leave and Merritt had no business bringing him in on this case.
But more important than that, they now had a line on Trask’s real identity. The agent Vigo had tagged to quietly work the investigation had uncovered huge news.
Merritt walked into the task force room without knocking. “What is so damn important that you demanded I drop a conference call with Virginia?”
Quinn knew he had to tread lightly. Merritt had his emotions involved and that was never good. Quinn knew that from firsthand experience.
“I have a line on Trask’s identity.”
Merritt couldn’t keep the shock off his face. “And?”
“We think he’s a friend of Roger Morton from grade school. Morton went to an elite boarding school in Connecticut. His father is a big shot, old money-”
“I know all about Morton. I interviewed the father myself. He has no idea who his son is running with. He disowned him, and our people know Roger Morton has never been home.”
Quinn took a deep breath. “Did you ever interview the headmaster from the boarding school?”
“Why? He graduated nearly twenty years ago. Paige was killed five years ago.”
“Dillon Kincaid read over all the files and he-”
“You mean the doctor I’m this close to getting an arrest warrant for?”
“What?”
“He’s aiding and abetting a known criminal.”
“Are you talking about Kate?”
“Do I need to pull you off this case?”
Quinn stared at Merritt. “Take a step back, Merritt. You’re doing yourself a disservice.”
“Don’t talk to me.”
For the first time, Quinn saw how pained Jeff Merritt was. His hair was out of place, his eyes had bags under them, and his clothes had been worn for well over twenty-four hours. Merritt lost the woman he loved to a sadistic killer. Quinn had almost been in those shoes. To think he nearly lost Miranda twice to a killer…but the fact that she survived didn’t mean he couldn’t understand what Merritt was going through.
“Jeff,” Quinn said quietly, “I’ve been where you are.”
“You know nothing.”
“Guilt that you couldn’t stop Paige from disobeying orders. Anger that she put her life on the line. Remorse that you didn’t tell her you loved her the last time she walked out your door.”
Quinn saw that he had hit the nail on the head with the last point.
“Dr. Kincaid is a consultant for the San Diego Police Department. This is what he does for a living. He figured out Roger’s connection to Trask.”
“And the Bureau is filled with incompetent fools? I’ll tell that to your pal Vigo.”
“The Bureau is overworked and understaffed, and you know as well as I do that as soon as Trask’s trail dried up, we worked other cases. You know how it is.”
“I’ve never stopped working Paige’s murder.”
“I know. And that’s why you’re too close. What were you thinking sending Mick Mallory in?”
“Mallory is the best damn undercover agent in the Bureau.”
“Was,” Quinn corrected. “Until his wife was murdered. He’s mentally unstable and you know it. And how could he have let Lucy be raped?”
Merritt frowned. “He must have been in a position where he couldn’t have helped her without blowing his cover. Last time he checked in there were six people, including him and Trask. Five men, one woman. He was waiting for the right time-”
“Right time for what?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“You sent Mallory to assassinate Trask.” Quinn shook his head. It all made sense now.
“It’s not supposed to be a suicide mission.”
“Since when do you have the authority to send in an assassin? Not to mention a man who isn’t trained for it?”
“What makes you think I don’t have the authority?”
He might, though if the operation blew up around them Merritt would be the scapegoat. Quinn had seen it happen before. But this time? Quinn highly doubted Merritt had any sanction for Mallory’s assignment.
“I’m going to play it straight with you, Merritt, and I want you to be straight with me. Okay?”
“What?”
“Kincaid believes Roger is working closely with someone he went to school with. Trask Enterprises began five years after he graduated from high school, but Roger Morton had no job, no college, no friends. Kincaid got the list of every student at Stonebridge Academy who had been at the school with Roger. His father identified three who had been Morton’s closest friends. One is dead. One is a stockbroker in New York. The other was expelled. I learned he’s on the board of directors of six legitimate companies, but can’t get a recent picture of him. My contact says that he owns stock in all the companies, sends his proxy to the meetings, and no one claims to have seen him. I have one old picture of him when he was sixteen, right before he was expelled.”
Quinn slid over the picture of a blond teenager with icy blue eyes. “Kate is the only person who has seen him and is still alive. I’m going to get this to her.”
“You’re working with her.” But Merritt couldn’t take his eyes off the photograph.
“I want you to drop all charges against her.”
“No.”
“Give her immunity, Merritt, and don’t tell me you can’t.”
“Paige died because of her.”
“Paige died because of him.” Quinn slapped his hand on the photograph of Adam Scott.
They were in a holding area of a small military facility. If it could be called a military facility. It looked more like a makeshift training camp in the middle of the desert. Red Rock, Jack had said, but Kate told Dillon they were at least twenty miles from Red Rock and she wasn’t one hundred percent sure where they were without looking at her maps. Dillon didn’t buy into conspiracy theories, but right now he would have believed virtually anything anyone told him about this place. Off the grid, Dillon thought. The men were not in standard military gear, and everyone knew Jack Kincaid.
Kate paced anxiously, like a caged tigress. “What’s taking so long?”
Dillon couldn’t say, so he didn’t answer. Instead he asked, “What kind of place is this?”
Kate shrugged. “Looks like a private mercenary training camp, except that their equipment isn’t surplus. State of the art. Did you catch a glimpse of the radar system at the airport?”
“No.” Didn’t look like an airport, either. One runway and a solitary building in the middle of nowhere. They were being held underground. “So is this run by the military or not?”
“Depends who you ask and when you ask it.”
“You’re as helpful as Jack.”