"And?"
"And they weren't listening. They've already made up their minds."
"Because of the money? Did they tell you about that?"
Connie nodded slowly and suddenly hunched forward. For a big man his movements could be quick, agile. "I don't like kicking you while you're down, but why in the hell did you go sniffing around Newman's accounts without telling somebody? Like me, for instance? You know detectives go in pairs for lots of reasons, not the least of which is to cover the other's ass. Now you've got nobody to corroborate shit for you, except Anne Newman. And as far as they're concerned, she doesn't count."
Reynolds threw up her hands. "I never in a million years thought this would happen. I was trying to do right by Ken and his family."
"Well, if he was being paid off, maybe Ken doesn't deserve that sort of consideration. And that's coming from a good friend of his."
"We don't know that he was bad yet."
"Cash in a safe-deposit box under a fake name? Yeah, I guess everybody does that, don't they?"
"Connie, how did they know I was investigating Ken's finances? I can't believe Anne would have called the Bureau. She asked me for help."
"I asked Massey, but he's a clam. Figures I'm the enemy too. I nosed around a bit, though, and I think they got a phone tip. Anonymous, of course. Massey told me you were screaming frame-up. And you know what, I think you're right, even if they don't."
The sight of Connie at the door had been welcome. The fact that he was still loyal meant a lot to her. And she wanted to do right by him too. Especially him. "Look, this isn't going to help your career, being seen with me, Connie. I'm sure Fisher has a tail on me."
"Actually, I'm your tail."
"You're kidding."
"No, the hell I am not. I talked the ADIC into it. Called in a few markers. For old times' sake, Massey said. In case you didn't know, Fred Massey was the guy who asked me to take the dive on the Brownsville case all those years ago. If he thinks this evens us up, he's brain-dead. But don't get all excited. They know I have every incentive to cover my ass on this. And that means if you fall, they don't have to go putting blame anywhere else. Including on yours truly." Connie paused and made a mock show of surprise. "ADIC? Come to think of it, that acronym really fits. Massey's a little shit too."
"You don't have much respect for your chain of command." Reynolds smiled. "What do you think of me, Agent Constantinople?"
"I think you screwed up big-time, and you just gave the Bureau a face-saving scapegoat," he said bluntly.
Reynolds's face grew serious. "You don't sugarcoat."
"Do you want me to waste time doing that?" Connie stood. "Or do you want to clear your name?"
"I have to clear my name. If I don't, I could lose it all, Connie. My kids, my career. All of it." Reynolds could feel herself trembling again and she took several deep breaths to counteract the panic she was feeling. She felt like a high schooler who had just learned she was pregnant. "But I'm suspended. No creds, no gun. No authority."
In answer Connie pulled on his overcoat. "Well, you've got me. I've got creds, a gun and, while I'm only a humble field agent after two and a half decades of doing this crap, I can do authority with the best of them. So get your coat and let's try to track down Lockhart."
"Lockhart?"
"I figure we deliver her, the pieces start to fall into place. The more they do, the more the blame gets shifted off you. I've talked to the VCU boys. They're spinning their wheels waiting on lab results and crap like that. And now Massey has them going hot and heavy on your angle and to hell with Lockhart for now. You know nobody's even gone to her house looking for clues?"
Reynolds looked miserable. "We were so reactive on the whole thing. Ken killed. Lockhart gone. The fiasco at the airport. Then people calling themselves the FBI at Adams's apartment. We never really had a chance to take the proper investigative steps."
"So I figure we follow up some leads while they're still hot. Like checking out Adams's family in the area. I've got the list of names and addresses. If he went on the run, he might have gotten one of them to help."
"You could get into deep trouble for this, Connie."
He shrugged. "Not the first time. Besides, we don't have a squad supervisor anymore. I don't know if you heard, but she was suspended for being stupid."
They exchanged smiles.
Connie continued. "So, as second-in-command, I'm entitled to investigate an active case I happened to be assigned to. My instructions are to find Faith Lockhart, so that's what I'm going to do. They just don't know I'm doing it with you. And I talked to the VCU guys. They know what I'm up to, so we won't run into another team going through Adams's relatives."
"I need to tell Rosemary I might be gone overnight."
"Then go." He looked at his watch. "I guess Sydney's still in school. Where's your boy?"
"Sleeping."
"Whisper in his ear that Mommy's gonna kick some butt."
When Reynolds returned, she went straight to the closet and got her coat. She hustled toward her study and then stopped.
"What's wrong?" Connie asked.
She looked at him, slightly embarrassed. "I was going to get my gun. Old habits die hard."
"Not to worry. You'll get yours back soon enough. But you have to make me a promise. When you go to get your gun and creds, take me with you. I want to see their faces."
She opened the door for him. "Deal."
CHAPTER 41
Buchanan made a number of other phone calls from the parking garage as he worked out his arrangements. He then went up to the law firm and spent time on an important matter he suddenly cared nothing about. He was driven home, his mind working the whole time as he devised his plan against Robert Thornhill. That was one area of his being that the CIA man could never penetrate or controclass="underline" Buchanan's mind. That fact was enormously comforting. Buchanan was slowly regaining his confidence. Maybe he could give the man a run for his money.
Buchanan unlocked the front door to his home and went inside. He lay his briefcase down on a chair and passed the darkened library. He turned on the light to gaze at his beloved painting, to give him strength for what lay ahead. As the light came on, Buchanan stared in disbelief at the empty frame. He staggered over to it, put his hands through the frame and touched the wall. He had been robbed. Yet he had a very good security system, and it had not been tripped.
He raced across to the phone to call the police. As his hand touched the receiver, it rang. He picked it up.
"Your car will be around in a couple of minutes, sir. Going to the office?"
At first Buchanan's mind didn't register.
"To the office, sir?"
"Yes," Buchanan was finally able to say.
He put the phone down and stared over at where his painting had hung. First Faith, and now his painting. All Thornhill's doing. All right, Bob, first point to you. Now it's my turn.
He went upstairs, washed his face and changed his clothes, carefully selecting what he needed to wear. He had a custom-built entertainment system in his bedroom housing a TV, stereo, VCR and DVD player. It was relatively safe from burglars since one couldn't take the components out without unscrewing numerous wooden pieces, a very time-consuming process. Buchanan did not watch TV or movies. And when he wanted music, he put a 33 platter on his old phonograph.
Sticking his hand in the slot of the VCR, Buchanan pulled out his passport, credit card and ID, all under an alias, and a slim bundle of hundred-dollar bills and put it all in a zippered inner pocket of his coat. Coming back downstairs, he looked outside and saw his car waiting. He would let him wait a few more minutes, just for the hell of it.