He called Cathy Moynihan’s number as soon as the message finished. It rang a few times before he was sent to voicemail.
“I got your message. I see you’re burning the midnight oil these days. Please call me back as soon as you get this. Your message has me concerned.”
Hood looked out the window and thought about what she’d said. It was no secret he and Director Culder didn’t get along, but they managed to get things done. He was certain very few at the FBI knew of his relationship with Moynihan, and Culder wasn’t one of the handful who knew. Although not related by blood, Hood and Moynihan were very much alike. Like her godfather, Moynihan wanted to climb her way through the bureau on her own merits, and he respected her for it and kept his distance.
He decided he would take a quick shower. If he didn’t hear back from her by the time he finished, he’d start to dig.
Chapter 88
The FBI director couldn’t help but smile when the display of his cell phone lit up. This was the call he had been anxiously awaiting. He saw it as the beginnings of a wave that he could ride all the way to the top of Washington’s elite.
“Chuck, how good of you to call,” Frank Culder said. He imagined the man on the other end of the line shrink in his chair. “Please don’t keep me waiting. I always love it when people come bearing gifts.”
Culder was relishing the fact that the man was about to go against everything he had stood for in his life. He was corrupting the incorruptible. What he was about to make him do wasn’t simply crossing the line; he was erasing it.
Dr. Charles Reed drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Tell me an email I can send the information to.”
“No delays. I want the information now,” Culder said. “I’m sure your little flower would appreciate that.”
“Then give me a goddamn email address!”
Culder rattled off an email address that was a combination of numbers and letters. He leaned back in his chair with content, still amazed at the lengths a father would go to protect his daughter, and decided it was a good thing he never had children. This man was willing to destroy everything he’d worked for.
“Send it now,” he demanded.
“I’m working on it.”
Culder could hear the caller’s fingers patting on a keyboard through his phone.
“It’s on the way,” Reed said.
Nothing was said as Culder retrieved the message. The only thing it contained was a link to a Facebook page, and it immediately set him off.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He followed the link to the profile of an attractive woman named April Pearson. “What is this bullshit?” Culder barked.
“Scroll down the page.” Reed’s tone was full of anger.
“There’s nothing to scroll, you idiot.”
“Apparently, you haven’t logged in. I didn’t realize you were so socially inept,” Reed said flatly.
He gave Culder a log-in so he could view her profile page on the social-networking website. Culder began to scroll down and saw that the web page was covered with loving condolences and expressions of sorrow from the woman’s Facebook friends. Culder couldn’t be bothered with that, but he made note that all of the images that had been recently posted included a young man. He stopped at one in particular and read the caption.
“The smile that will stay with us for the rest of our lives. I love you both. Ryan, until we see each other again. Thanks for being the best friend I could ever have.”
It wasn’t only the smile that engaged Culder, it was the happiness that was punctuated by his eyes. He felt like a voyeur, secretly viewing something he would never have.
What the FBI director didn’t know was that April Pearson’s husband had always been extremely cautious about the way April used social-networking websites. The need for secrecy was something she never completely understood, but she loved and trusted him, so she didn’t have a problem with his requests.
The first thing he asked was for her to sign up for accounts using her maiden name, April Pearson. He explained that using April Turner wasn’t a good idea, due to the nature of his job. The next detail, and something that he had become increasingly adamant about over the last several years, was keeping his images from being linked to her account. When possible, he wanted her to ask her friends to remove his images from the websites altogether. At the very least, she needed to delete any image tagging that would link the two of them together.
That was then and this was now. It had been therapeutic for the grieving widow to browse through previously unseen images of her husband, Ryan, that her friends had posted. Now that he was gone, she didn’t see any harm in leaving herself tagged. It made it easier for her to browse through them all.
After a long moment of scrolling through images, the director grunted his disapproval. “What is this?”
“It’s your man.”
“This man is dead,” he said. “Listen, Chuck, don’t test my patience.”
“I suppose it’s those masterful skills of deduction that landed you such an important job.”
“Chuck, Chuck, Chuck.” Culder cackled. “I thought you were smart enough to understand the position you’re in, your daughter is in.” His words turned scathing. “It would be wise to spare me the insults and get down to business.”
“The man you are looking at on your screen is Ryan Turner,” Reed said, his voice simmering with anger. “He’s the identical twin brother of Trent Turner, the operative you’re searching for.” He hesitated for a moment and then said, “You’ll find him at a performance at the Studebaker Theater in Chicago tonight at six.”
A sinister smile crept its way onto Culder’s face, and he began to laugh. “Reed, you’ve outdone yourself!” he said. “In fact,” he continued with an air of humor in his voice, “I’m so impressed, I have another little job for you.”
Reed remained silent for a moment as the tension increased. “Look, Culder, I’ve lived up to my side of the deal. You can’t—”
“I can’t what?” Culder barked.
Reed didn’t speak.
“The last time I checked, your little girl was out blowing Chicago’s lowlifes and trading crack for crack.” Culder paused so the sickening image would burn into Reed’s mind. “For now, anyway. Things can change rather quickly with one phone call.”
“No more after this. No more!” Reed yelled. “My debt is paid.”
Culder knew once he had the information he wanted he wouldn’t need anything else.
“You’ve got a deal.” The smile still hadn’t left his face. “I want some dirt on Cross. I want you to connect the president to your little operation. I want details that will expose what really goes on at Addy Simpson’s Island Industries. A monsoon of damning evidence, if you will. Then I’ll be finished with you.”
Chapter 89
Sleep was a rare commodity for Trent Turner. He knew his effectiveness would be diminished if he didn’t take the time to rest, so it was second nature to put his head down whenever the opportunity presented itself. Etzy Millar had continued working with The Shop while the operative went on his sortie to the Fine Arts Building. When Turner returned, he opted for a quick nap to help sharpen the edges of his mind. His body twitched every few seconds as he faded away into dream.