But one thing hadn’t changed: Patrick worked within the letter of the law-always.
Consequently, he’d never expected to find himself part of a team like Forensic Instincts, whose methods were as different from his own as could be imagined. But events in life, especially the recent kidnapping case that had introduced Patrick to FI, had taught him that sometimes, sometimes, the end really did justify the means.
That didn’t mean he was ready to abandon his principles-only that he was willing to bend them a bit when it became absolutely necessary.
The team considered him to be the seasoned and steadying voice of reason at Forensic Instincts, the guy who played by the book and acted as the anchoring fist on the kite strings of the other team members. Patrick considered himself to be the guy who kept his colleagues out of jail.
But, hell, he respected their talents. And on the flip side, they respected his.
In this new case, Patrick felt totally comfortable with the first assignment Casey had given him. He knew D.C. like the back of his hand and his task was solid. He might not have Hero’s nose, but he was damned good at tracking down people.
He landed at Reagan National around noon and took a cab into D.C.’s Capitol District. Ryan had enlarged the mystery man’s photo on the computer, fine-tuning it as sharply as possible so the man’s image was clear, the background less blurry. The pictures of Amanda and Paul were close-ups and needed only minor tweaks to make their images crisp.
Patrick stood on the corner of Second Street and C Street NE, and glanced around. Just as he recalled. Government buildings, St. Joseph’s Church and throngs of people moving rapidly along. And that was just what was within line of sight. A short walk away there were a couple of coffee shops, a bagel place, a café and a supermarket. Farther on was Stanton Park, and north was Union Square Station.
He had lots of territory to cover. And nothing but a few photos and his gut instincts to go on.
One thing about the Hamptons. It literally shut down in the wintertime. The same applied to Montauk, which was at the far eastern tip of Long Island. Even the avid fishermen, who braved the cool autumn days to cast their lines, were long gone by December.
Although cars drove by it year-round, Lake Montauk was deserted when the team arrived. A stiff breeze had kicked up, reminding them all that it was nearly Christmas-time. And the chill in the air was accentuated by the proximity of the water.
“Here. Stop here,” Amanda told Casey as they rounded a bend on West Lake Drive.
Casey braked, bringing the van to a halt. “You’re sure?” she asked quietly.
Amanda scanned the lake before her gaze shifted back to the road. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll never forget this spot.” She swallowed hard, her face sheet-white. “Let’s get this over with.” She turned the door handle and stepped out of the van.
Casey and Marc exchanged quick glances.
“It’s the right spot.” Claire answered their unspoken question from the backseat. “There’s a dark aura of violence here. Something ugly happened within yards of where we are.” She opened her own door, brows drawn together as she stepped out. “The feeling is strong. And equally as complex as what I was feeling in Paul Everett’s house. So many conflicting emotions coming at me all at once.” She stayed where she was, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to zero in on something concrete.
“Do what you need to do. Marc, you and Hero do your thing, as well. I don’t want to leave Amanda alone.” Casey had already turned off the car and was out and moving. “This has got to be the most torturous part of her day. We’ve got to tread carefully in our questions and the depth of our interrogation.”
“Yes. We do,” Claire agreed.
Marc nodded, getting out and going around back to leash up Hero.
Amanda had walked a short distance away, then stopped, wrapping her arms around herself in an instinctive act of self-protection. She bowed her head, staring at the road. But Casey could tell that she wasn’t really seeing it. She was seeing Paul’s car, the driver’s seat covered in blood, and the nightmarish hour that had followed.
“Hey.” Casey came up behind Amanda, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now. I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
“So am I. But it has to be done.” Amanda’s chin came up as she steeled herself. “It’s an odd combination of emotions. Some of it’s cutting pain. Some of it’s anger and resentment. Obviously, that’s justified if Paul’s still alive. But even if he’s dead-the feelings are the same. If someone drove all the way out here just to kill him, there had to be reasons for it. And Paul clearly agreed to the meeting. So how could he have not played some part in getting himself killed? He had to be involved in something illegal. I loved him, but I guess I never knew him. And Justin…” She drew a slow, shaky breath. “I realize Paul had no idea I was pregnant. Still, I blame him for not being here when Justin needs him. I guess that’s irrational.”
“No, it’s human.” Casey’s reply was filled with conviction. “Paul’s death was a life crisis. Justin’s illness is a bigger one. Your emotions might be all over the place, but every one of them is justified. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“Thanks.” Amanda glanced behind her as the sound of approaching footsteps announced Claire’s arrival.
“Do you need more time alone?” Claire asked, scanning the area. She gazed past the tree-lined street, down to the water. The lake was rough, the waves keeping pace with the wind, slapping the sand with the impact that announced winter’s impending arrival.
Amanda shook her head. “I need resolution.”
“Then let’s get it.” Casey gestured around. “Describe everything you remember in the order it happened.”
“I got a call from the police reporting that they had found Paul’s car and where. They asked me to meet them. I raced out here like a lunatic.” Amanda’s tone was flat, as if she were replaying a scene she’d long since memorized. “I knew the car was Paul’s. I saw the license plate as I drove up. And I saw a few personal things-his sunglasses case, the peppermint candies he kept in his cup holder and the suction-cup heart I’d given him was stuck on his dashboard.”
“So you identified the car to the police.”
“Yes.”
“A Mercedes SL63 AMG convertible,” Casey stated. “That’s quite a car.”
“Paul was a successful real-estate developer. That much, at least, he told me. Then again, I guess he couldn’t lie when he was driving a hundred-thousand-dollar car.”
“True.” Casey refrained from making a judgmental comment. “Real-estate development can be very lucrative, if the developer is smart and lucky. So let’s skip that part. Go on.”
“The door to the driver’s side was wide-open. There was blood all over the seat and on the windshield.”
“How much blood?”
“Enough to convince the cops that Paul was dead. It was written all over their faces.”
“According to the police report, they found tracks leading from the car. Is that why they wrote off the lake as a potential place for the body to have been dumped?”
A nod. “They did drag the lake. But the bloody tracks were pretty convincing. They headed north, up the west side of the lake toward Gosman’s Dock. The theory was that Paul had been dragged to another car and driven up to Gosman’s Dock, where he was dumped into the water.”
“That’s quite a supposition. I get the other car part. But what convinced them he was dumped into the water?”
“The proximity of Gosman’s Dock. The fact that there’s an open inlet between the jetties there that leads from Block Island Sound out to the ocean. The fact that high tide last April occurred in the middle of the night, which would make it possible for the body to be carried away by the tide…to the ocean-” Amanda’s voice quavered “-and the sharks. The fact that the killer chose Lake Montauk for the meeting. And, most of all, the fact that there was no body.”