“Let’s get her in custody and decide then if she needs to be in jail or in a safe house.”
Noah left Slater’s office and was heading back to his desk in order to prepare for his meeting with Assistant Director Rick Stockton when he ran into the man himself in the hall.
They shook hands. “How are you, sir?” Noah asked.
“Could be better. We have an ID on the girl from the garage. Her name is Sara Edmonds, and she was reported missing ten days ago by her father. Reverend Kirk Edmonds.”
“The televangelist?”
“The one and the same. The Baltimore office showed him the picture and he positively identified her. He also identified the brunette.”
“Ivy Harris.”
“Wrong. Hannah Edmonds. His middle daughter, who he thought was dead.” Rick said. “Tell me you have her in custody.”
“No, sir.”
“He’ll be here in the morning. This is going to be a media nightmare.”
“Because his daughter ran away?”
“He says Hannah kidnapped Sara. He says she’s mentally unbalanced. When she was fourteen, she stopped taking doctor-prescribed antidepressants and threatened suicide. He thought she’d killed herself when he found her clothes and blood in a car she stole.”
“What did the police say?”
“Same thing. The car was found near the lake, she was known to be suicidal, and her older sister found Hannah’s prescription bottle empty. Ten days ago, Sara disappeared in the middle of the night. Our people treated it as a kidnapping, but there were no clues—no trace evidence, no witnesses, no ransom note, nothing.”
Slater stepped out of his office. “I heard about that case. There was some speculation that she might have had a boyfriend?”
“Nothing confirmed,” Stockton said. “I have the local agent assigned to the case coming in with Reverend Edmonds. She’ll have more insight about the Edmonds family.”
“This changes everything,” Slater said.
Noah said, “We can’t assume anything in this case. We assumed there was no connection between the three murders, and now we know there is.”
“It’s a theory, Noah,” Slater said. “We have no hard evidence that links Wendy James to Ivy Harris or the other crime scene.”
Stockton said, “I’m very interested in these new developments, but we have a recent sighting of a missing minor, fourteen, who may be in danger, and that takes precedence over all else.”
“Understood,” Noah said.
“How’s Lucy?”
“She’ll be fine.”
“Good. Debrief her as soon as possible. She’s the only one who’s talked to Hannah Edmonds.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s get this done, I have ten minutes until the press conference.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sean walked into Senator Jonathon Paxton’s office in the Dirksen Building without an invitation or an appointment.
“Mr. Rogan,” the receptionist followed him. “Mr. Rogan, Senator Paxton’s in a meeting.”
Sean opened the door. Paxton was on the phone. “I’ll see you then, Agent Armstrong,” Paxton said and hung up.
“Tell me the truth,” Sean said.
The senator said to the receptionist, “It’s fine, Ann. Sean is working on a project for me. Let me know when Agent Armstrong arrives.”
Ann left, closing the door behind her, though the concern didn’t leave her face.
Paxton said, “Hello, Sean. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”
“Tell me about Ivy Harris.”
The senator narrowed his gaze. “Do I detect an implication in your tone that I have been less than truthful?”
“You’ll detect a hell of a lot more, and you’ll see it on the five o’clock news, if you don’t tell me the truth now.”
“Noah Armstrong informed me that Lucy was in a car accident. How is she?”
“Alive.”
“I don’t understand your hostility, Sean.”
“Stay away from Lucy.”
“What happened?” Paxton lost his fake politeness. “You come into my office with an accusatory tone and tell me to stay away from a friend?”
Sean barely resisted the urge to push Paxton up against the wall and pound the phony indignation off his face. His restraint came more from the fact that Paxton was twice his age than because he was a senator.
Sean glanced behind Paxton’s desk. There was a picture of Paxton and a young, dark-haired woman. Lucy? He stepped closer. No, it wasn’t Lucy. It was his daughter, Monique.
Sean walked around the large office, at the array of pictures on the walls and tables. He stopped in front of a framed photograph of Paxton and a much younger Lucy. She was about twenty, twenty-one—probably during her internship with the Judiciary Committee. Again, Sean was reminded that Paxton’s feelings about Lucy were complex. And, he considered, quite unhealthy.
“You realize your obsession with Lucy is sick.”
“I’m not obsessed, Rogan. I care about her. Yes, like a daughter. But I recognize that she’s not my daughter.”
“Three months ago you hired me to track down a woman named Ivy Harris, and now she’s in the middle of a murder investigation. She’s the reason Lucy was in the car crash today!”
Paxton seemed stunned. “I didn’t know—”
“Bull-fucking-shit!” Sean backed away from the wall of photos. Paxton had weaseled his way into Lucy’s life for years, and Sean had tried to understand, but now Paxton was using him. Something was off about the senator, and Sean wasn’t going to be party to whatever chess game he was playing.
“Don’t try to con me,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of work for you these last few months, and I learn you had me track down a girl who someone is trying to kill. Is it you? Did you put a hit on her?”
“That’s ludicrous!”
“Don’t lie to me, Paxton. I’m telling Lucy everything. She needs to find this girl.”
“I don’t know where she is. If you would listen—”
Sean was too angry to listen to anything Paxton had to say, though the security-trained portion of his brain told him to shut up and pay attention. He said, “You’re waiting for Noah Armstrong? I’ll wait with you. I’m sure he’d love to know that you’re withholding information in a federal investigation. Do you want Ivy Harris dead?”
“Of course not. Are you going to listen to me or just accuse me?”
“I like the accusing part.” Sean had to get his temper under control, but he couldn’t resist jabbing the senator.
“I cannot discuss this here. I will come by your house tonight, when you’ve calmed down.”
“Tell me now, or as soon as Noah shows up, I’m turning over my files on Ivy to him.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Read the fine print. If I find out that a client has used me to commit a felony or to cover up a felony, all investigative material can and will be turned over to the proper authorities. The FBI wants Ivy Harris, I have information that may help them find her.”
“They already know she’s Hannah Edmonds.”
That information threw Sean off-balance. He had the police file on Hannah Edmonds’s suicide. There was no reason to think she was alive, but there had been no pictures of the real Hannah Edmonds to run facial recognition. “She is Hannah Edmonds or she’s pretending to be Hannah Edmonds?”
“She is Hannah. The FBI is in the process of confirming the information, but I’ve been in communication with her. I know she’s Hannah.”
“How?”
“That’s not important.”
“Like hell it isn’t.”
“Noah’s coming here to talk about my former legislative staffer, Chris Taylor, who was murdered this morning, and specifically why Chris called me at eleven o’clock last night.”