Patrick Bowers 08 - Every Crooked Path

by Steven James

  Blake wants you at Rockwell’s house tonight at nine?

  Is Rockwell somehow involved in all this?

  That seemed highly doubtful to me, but I didn’t want to discount anything.

  Last Wednesday, Randy McReynolds had told me, “They know things. They can find out things. You have no idea how far this goes.”

  Did it go all way to the CEO of Krazle?

  Was that even possible?

  Krazle’s corporate headquarters was just outside Silicon Valley, but they also had offices here in New York City, and apparently that’s where Rockwell primarily worked out of when he wasn’t involved in humanitarian efforts around the globe.

  It wasn’t difficult to find photographs of Rockwell’s sprawling estate at 54 North Worthy Drive, half an hour outside the city limits. The grounds used to be a boarding school and the main building had been renovated, apparently with a ballroom and catering facilities, ideal for hosting events.

  Rockwell’s Wikipedia page noted that he gave millions of dollars to charities and public service organizations. The ICSC appeared first on the list.

  After a little more searching, I found that Rockwell’s upcoming media appearances included being a guest on Billy McReynolds’s radio show this morning.

  Interesting.

  Hyperlinked to the article was information about the International Child Safety Consortium donor banquet that their president, Alejandro Gomez, had invited me to last week when I was at their office, meeting with Mr. Edlemore.

  Rockwell was hosting the gala at his mansion tonight.

  And so.

  More threads woven into the rug.

  But more questions too.

  Is the Final Territory going to stage some sort of protest? Have they infiltrated the ICSC?

  The best way to find answers to those questions would be to attend the event tonight.

  When Gomez had invited me, I’d declined since I didn’t want it to appear that I was receiving perks or special consideration from him during an active investigation.

  However, now that I was on administrative leave and since I’d received this mask and hood, we had a legitimate reason to suspect that something untoward might occur during the fundraiser. I figured I could go, and it might make sense for us to have an even bigger presence there.

  How to frame this . . . ?

  I contacted the ICSC to see if they could get me in touch with Gomez. When I told the receptionist who I was, she immediately patched me through to his personal line.

  I didn’t mention that I was currently suspended, and I hoped he hadn’t been following the news. Stretching the truth slightly, I told him, “We have credible intel that there’s a group that might be planning a demonstration or disruption at the fundraiser tonight.”

  “Agent Bowers, if something like that were to happen, it would just provide us with even more exposure and media coverage—a bigger audience to hear our message of hope for the children we work so hard to protect worldwide. I’m not going to cancel the event, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “No, I’m not. At this time I don’t have any reason to believe that you or your guests are in any kind of danger. That being said, we’re going to want some agents undercover at the event. We’ll work with your security team. We’ll be unobtrusive, I promise. But I want some people on-site just in case anything goes down.”

  Thoughts flashed through my mind, what was best for everyone, what was safest for everyone.

  You could order police protection for Christie and Tessa while you’re there, or . . .

  I recalled Saturday night when I was at Tobin’s house and we were postulating about how Adrienne’s abductors had pulled things off—they drew Tobin out of the house, likely to remove the primary threat first.

  Misdirection.

  Now, this morning, someone who knew I was staying at Christie’s had given me a time and a location where they wanted me to be while she and Tessa were likely going to be someplace else.

  Maybe all this is an orchestrated attempt to get you away from them tonight . . .

  But of all the people involved in this, who can you trust?

  Off the top of my head I couldn’t think of too many task force members who I was confident weren’t involved.

  The list was strikingly short: Tobin, Jodie, DeYoung.

  If all this is going down tonight, the safest place for Christie and Tessa wouldn’t be at home alone under police protection, but close to you and in a group with other people around.

  “Did I lose you?” Gomez asked me. “Are you still there?”

  “Sorry. Yes. I’m . . . What were you saying?”

  “We were talking about unobtrusive security for tonight.”

  “Right. Just a few other agents.”

  “Certainly. I’d be a fool to ignore the threat you’ve identified and an even bigger fool to turn down the offer of the FBI’s help with our security. How many invitations do you need?”

  “Five.”

  “I’ll have them waiting for you when you arrive. They’ll be under your name.”

  “One will be for a guest under twenty-one. Will that be a problem?”

  “No, there’ll be nonalcoholic beverages available.” Then he added, “It is a black-tie event, so if your agents wish to remain unobtrusive—as you said—I would suggest they dress accordingly.”

  “Good to know. Thanks.”

  He told me that cocktails started at six, followed by dinner, and then a short presentation at around eight. “I look forward to seeing you there, Agent Bowers.”

  +++

  After Gomez hung up, I called Tobin to tell him what was going on.

  He took it all in. “So they gave you a mask and a hood?”

  “Yes. It looks like I’ve been officially invited to join the Final Territory.”

  He was quiet. “I can certainly come to the event tonight and I’ll see if Jodie can as well, but I don’t like this, Pat. Let me have the lab take a look at the hood and mask, check them for prints and DNA.”

  “I should probably keep them with me for now.”

  “And you think it’s a good idea to have Christie and Tessa there tonight?”

  “Right now I don’t know who to trust. This way I’ll be able to keep an eye on them. There’ll likely be dozens, if not hundreds, of people there. Safety in numbers.”

  “And when you put on that mask and hood at nine o’clock and they take you to wherever they want to take you—I mean, assuming that’s what’s going to happen—what then?”

  “Then I’ll leave Christie and Tessa under your watchful eye. Or maybe Jodie’s. Either way they’ll be safe. Hey, listen, I was thinking about how, when you’re working on a puzzle, after you’ve taken a glance at the big picture, sometimes it’s good to go back to the beginning to review what led you to that place.”

  “You mean return to Stewart’s apartment?”

  “Yes. I’d like to poke around a bit, then head over to Billy McReynolds’s studio and talk with him. Last week he offered to help us out if we needed it. Maybe there’ll be something else about his brother that he’s remembered that’ll better prepare me for this meeting tonight with the Final Territory people.”

  “All that sounds good, except the part about you going back to the apartment. It’s still a sealed-off crime scene and you’re currently suspended.”

  “Hmm.” That was true. “How about this. Jodie’s been there before. Why don’t you see if she can go back and have a look around?”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “And I’m going to want you to find out everything you can about Marcus Rockwell. Any links to Stewart, Lloyd, or Wooford.”

  “You seriously think he might be involved?”

  “We need to eliminate that possibility. By the way, have you heard from the tech
team about the contents of that USB flash drive from Stewart’s place?”

  “Not yet. I’ll swing by in person and find out where they’re at, make sure they know we need those results ASAP.”

  “Alright. I’ll go meet with Billy and see what he can tell us.”

  79

  10:00 a.m.

  11 hours left

  I sent a text to Christie telling her about the donor banquet tonight and asking if she and Tessa would be able to attend with me. “It’s for the ICSC,” I explained. “They work to stop child molestation and abuse around the world.”

  I included a link to their website.

  Then I left for Billy McReynolds’s BranchWide Studios.

  On the way, Christie called me, asking for details about the event.

  “Everything starts at six,” I said. “They’re serving cocktails, and then dinner. It’s a formal event, so we’ll need to dress up.”

  “And Tessa’s invited too?”

  “Yes. I made sure it would be okay.”

  “Let me contact her. I’ll let you know.”

  +++

  Francis was at his desk when the email came through, but it wasn’t the one he was expecting.

  “I know it was you,” it read. “I know where you live. If you recorded me at my computer, you’re going to delete the file or I’ll make sure a record of all your chats finds its way into the hands of your superiors.”

  It was signed graciousgirl4.

  Francis felt a deep chill.

  Somehow the man who’d been posing as the eighteen-year-old woman had tracked him down, and had even found out his work email address.

  He’s involved in what’s happening with Ivan and Skylar! He’s a part of their team! This is all a setup to blackmail me!

  No, Francis, think about it. That doesn’t make sense. How would they know you would back-trace to his account? This is separate from what’s happening with Ivan and Skylar.

  Well, whoever this man was, he’d done something Francis didn’t think was possible: he’d located him—at work even.

  And also threatened him.

  That seemed to be happening a lot today.

  You were careful. Whoever he is, he must be an expert at finding his way around the Internet.

  Now what?

  Call the police. I should call the police.

  And tell him what? That you hacked in to a Krazle account and saw a guy sitting there? You’d either get in trouble or they’d just laugh at you and tell you that it served you right. Besides, you can’t contact the police or Ivan will attack Derek.

  Okay, so this guy was threatening to let his boss know about the chats. Francis figured he might lose his job if that happened, but he had a lot more to worry about today than that.

  He’d lose it anyway if he purposely downloaded a virus.

  He deleted the email without replying to it.

  +++

  Battling traffic, I didn’t make it to the BranchWide Studios until nearly eleven.

  It was across the street from the docks near Jamaica Bay and situated in a warehouse district next to an old auto repair shop, but the studio building itself was clean and recently refurbished.

  Inside, a slightly overweight woman in her late fifties sat behind the reception desk. The name plate in front of her read ELLE LACHMAN. I recognized her as the person who’d picked up Billy McReynolds at Presbyterian Central Hospital after our meeting in the morgue last week.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for Billy McReynolds.” I showed her the business card he’d given me. “My name’s Patrick Bowers. I spoke with him on Thursday. I’m with the FBI, looking into the death of his brother.”

  It wasn’t quite the whole truth, but it was enough for now.

  “He’s on-air right now, I’m afraid.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be done?”

  “His show is live from nine to noon, but I might be able to get you in to see him during one of his commercial breaks—if it’s urgent.”

  “That would be great. Yes. This is important.”

  “Let me check with our call screener and see what I can find out.”

  I took a seat in the corner of the reception area, and while I waited to talk with Billy I connected to the studio’s Wi-Fi and emailed DeYoung, telling him about the mask and the hood and the event this evening. “I’ve asked Tobin and Jodie to come too,” I wrote, then waited for his reply.

  +++

  Tessa was on her way to her next classroom when she noticed a text from her mom: an invitation to some sort of dinner tonight.

  It looked boring.

  “No, thanks,” she texted back.

  Then went in to take her algebra exam.

  80

  11:00 a.m.

  10 hours left

  Ms. Lachman told me that Billy had a short commercial break at quarter after the hour and could speak with me then.

  “He’s interviewing Marcus Rockwell,” she said proudly, obviously excited that they’d been able to convince the billionaire to stop by and be on the show.

  “That’s what I heard.”

  The minutes ticked by, and at twelve after she led me down a hallway with recording studios on either side. The thick soundproof glass offered me an unobstructed view of Billy and Marcus, who were seated across the table from each other with a mic in front of each of them.

  A neon ON AIR sign glowed red above the door. Billy’s call screener was working across the hall in another studio.

  I asked Ms. Lachman, “How did Billy pull off an interview with Marcus Rockwell?”

  “There’s an event that Mr. Rockwell is hosting tonight. He wanted to promote support for the International Child Safety Consortium, and my husband has a listening audience of nearly five million people. The ICSC works to stop child exploitation across international borders.”

  “Yes, I’m familiar with—I’m sorry, did you say your husband?”

  “I know, different last name. We got married later in life.” She held up her ring finger to show off her wedding band. “But it’s been two years now, come August.”

  “Congratulations.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Did you know Billy’s brother very well?”

  “I’m afraid not. I was working here before Billy’s show started, so I only met Randy once, right after Billy and I started dating. They weren’t especially close. Still, it has been hard for him this last week. They were brothers, after all.”

  I thought of my own brother and how things had been strained between us as well, over the years, and of how many times I’d wished we were closer. “Yes,” I said, not really sure how else to reply. “It would be hard.”

  Ms. Lachman glanced at the call screener, who gave her a thumbs-up. “Should be ready in just a moment.”

  From where Billy was seated, he could see us through the glass, and his gaze was level and flat and a lot more hostile than it’d been when we first met last week in the hospital when he came in to identify his brother’s body.

  The call screener held up five fingers, then four, then three. Two. One.

  The ON AIR sign went black, Ms. Lachman opened the door for me, and I entered Billy’s studio.

  He removed his headphones and rose. After briefly introducing me to Marcus Rockwell, who had blond, surfer-style hair and a breezy way about him, Billy stepped to the side with me and lowered his voice. “I’ve read the news feeds. You didn’t tell me that you shot Randy before he died last week.”

  “It might sound strange, but it was to protect him, to stop him from jumping.”

  “Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Well, I saw that you were put on administrative leave for taking that shot.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ever think that
shooting him might have startled him or frightened him? Maybe that’s what caused him to jump. I haven’t ruled out a wrongful death lawsuit against you and the Bureau.”

  Through one of the speakers just above the sound-absorbing baffles on the far wall, the call screener said, “Billy, you have one minute and thirty-five seconds before you’re back on the air. One minute thirty.”

  “Why are you here today, Agent Bowers?” he asked me tersely.

  “I wanted to know if you might have thought of anything else that could help us resolve the circumstances regarding your brother’s death.”

  “I think they’re pretty clear.”

  I held up the key I’d received that was identical to the one found on Randy’s body. “Do you recognize this?”

  Billy took it and inspected it carefully. “No. Should I?”

  “Your brother had a copy of it on him when he died.”

  “I have no idea what this is a key to.”

  “One minute,” his screener announced.

  He gave me back the key.

  “I’m sure you received the autopsy results,” I said to him.

  “Yes. Randy was poisoned. Do you have any idea who did that?”

  “No. So despite the suicide note you think someone else was trying to kill him?”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “—Forty-five seconds—”

  Mr. Rockwell glanced our way and I guessed that, even though we were both speaking quietly, he could probably still hear us.

  “Do you know the name Hal Lloyd?” I asked Billy.

  “No, I don’t think so. Was he involved in this business regarding my brother?”

  “What business?”

  “—Thirty seconds—”

  “I just mean, whatever he was into.”

  “We’re not sure what Randy was involved with,” I said. “Were you able to remember the name of the woman who brought those sexual assault allegations against your brother? You’d mentioned Beth maybe?”

  “No. I’m—”

  “—Fifteen.” Urgency in her voice now.