What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 5)

by Cathryn Fox

“We have to hide it. They always go after the computer,” she said simply. “We have to hide his car and get rid of everything he has in his car.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t watched too many cop shows, honey? Is all this necessary? I’m washing clothes Zach hasn’t worn in months.”

  Her finger tapped her lip. She tried to think quickly. “I can’t tell you why, Dad, but I have a really bad feeling here. It’s not going to hurt, is it, to be cautious?”

  “No, honey, not at all. Tell me what to do. We’ll do this together.”

  A dark haze covered the Boston skyline in the wee hours of the morning. The nor’easter had headed out to the ocean without hitting land. Boston only got hit with four inches. The brunt of the storm was over.

  Brophy could describe the sunrise in detail because he sat, watching it come up. Goddamn it! Nothing went as he planned!

  Brophy had sent Waters home for a few hours when it became apparent there wouldn’t be an interrogation. The kid had lawyered up. That damn lawyer helped the other suspect do the same.

  Brophy’s head turned to the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. A heavy hand banged against the slightly opened door. He didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

  “What the hell happened?” Darren demanded, facing Brophy’s desk.

  “Oh, I thought I would stay up for two days and hang out with lowlifes. What the hell do you think happened?” Brophy countered. His bloodshot eyes stared back, unyielding. “It’s what we get for rushing. He lawyered up.”

  “Why the hell did he do that?”

  “We picked up his roommate, who stated that he was with Quinn that night. Word must have got back to the kid. He ended up at his sister’s.”

  “And how the hell did he end up with Ralph McCormick as his lawyer?”

  Brophy grimaced, rolling his eyes. He threw his pen down on his desk. “Goddamn sister’s roommate is a fledgling lawyer at Remick, Feinstein and Lowell. If I had known, I would have waited until he left his sister’s. He lawyered up before we even got him out of the apartment.”

  Darren rubbed his forehead. He began to pace back and forth. “We’re going to have to play this smart. McCormick called me already. He wants the kid released immediately in the morning. Tell me we have more than just his car in the parking lot and his screen name to connect him to the victim.”

  Brophy shrugged. “Sorry. At the moment, that’s it. We had the search warrant for the kid’s dorm and home residence. Didn’t know about the sister’s place. I’m waiting for that one now. I have a unit sitting on the apartment. There has been no activity. We have an APB out on the car. With the storm passing, we should be able to get a better handle on the car.”

  “Have you looked into the sister? Close to his sister?” Kennedy asked. “What do we know about the family?”

  Once more, Brophy shook his head. “Don’t think you’re going to like any of this.”

  “Give me a shot.”

  “Zach Quinn has one sister who lives in Boston. His father, Daniel Quinn, is a high school history teacher in Hingham. Nine years ago his wife, Mary, was killed in a car accident. The father was driving. It was a head-on collision. A kid, seventeen, a state trooper’s son, died. You might remember the case. It was in the paper. Remember the father was cited for being distracted, thought to have been on his cell phone?”

  “It’s a sad story, but the relevance?”

  “About the only thing Karl Neslund volunteered. The trooper sued. Wiped out the family financially. Not long after the incident, an insurance investigator discovered a cover-up. Turns out it was the trooper’s son who was texting.”

  Kennedy nodded. “I remember the case. Sent some troopers to prison, including the kid’s father.”

  “Yeah, lost sympathy when the guy took money for the accident when he knew his son was at fault. The settlement between the insurance and the Quinn estate was well over one and a half million. It wasn’t recovered.”

  “Relevance? What does it have to do with our case?”

  “The guy was explaining why the family doesn’t have a lot of faith in our law enforcement and why he will make sure that everything is done on the up-and-up. Also, he assures me the kid couldn’t have anything to do with a murder such as this. Says he would vouch for him personally. Says the kid doesn’t have it in him.”

  “And he knows this because his girlfriend tells him her brother wasn’t like that.”

  For the first time in days, a laugh escaped Brophy. “I insinuated the same and was quickly corrected by Mr. Neslund. Roommates only. Known each other since grammar school. Have been roommates for the last three years, along with another friend. Neslund graduated from Dartmouth College and Harvard Law. The third roommate, Greg Mobley, is working on a graduate degree from Massachusetts College of Art and Design. Neslund says he considers the Zach kid family, which I assume is why he went for the big dog.”

  Darren shook his head. “Get me some evidence here, Brophy. What do you think? It’s this kid?”

  Brophy squirmed in his chair, searching for a more comfortable position. He paused. “If I was going totally on instinct, no. Just going over all we have on all three cases, my first impression—it wouldn’t fit this kid’s personality. Mind you, I have to do some more digging in his background. But without a doubt, I do think there is a connection that will lead us to the killer.”

  “A connection? I want the killer.”

  “It could be some sort of sadistic game. It could just be him. It’s way too early on. I’ll know better when we find his computer and car. Need the pieces to be able to complete the puzzle.”

  “Then do whatever it takes to bring the bastard down, Broph,” Darren said, dead serious. “This killer scares me. I don’t believe he’s going to stop until we stop him.”

  Chapter Seven

  Cameron had seen worse nor’easters, but she had never been out in the middle of a worse one. The brunt of the storm may have gone out to sea, leaving only a few inches of snow, but the winds had been brutal along the coast. She had fought against its strength driving back into Boston. Against all odds, she had completed her mission. She just didn’t know whether she had been successful.

  Frozen to the bone and exhausted, Cameron returned to her apartment to find the police swarming her small, over-crowded street. As she had suspected, a search warrant had been issued for her home, and was now in the process of being executed.

  The moment she set foot back within the door, Greg waylaid her. Frazzled, he couldn’t seem to get a coherent word out of his mouth. She didn’t need him to become unglued. She didn’t have time to calm him. She had other issues pressing…like the detective glaring at her. She recognized him. He had been one of the officers who had taken Zach down for questioning. What was his name…Waters?

  “Cam, where…where have you been? Look…look at our home. They have torn it apart.” Greg pointed to an overturned end table. “Make them stop, Cam. Make them stop.”

  She had never experienced being at the end of a search warrant, but even from her lack of experience, it seemed the officers weren’t too happy with her and had taken it out on her place. The cushions on the couch thrown in the middle of the floor, books pulled off the shelves: the whole of the place had been ransacked.

  “It’s okay, Greg. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

  “But Cam, they have boxed up all your stuff. I tried to stop them. Your computer, papers, bills…”

  “It’s fine,” Cameron assured her roommate, but her words sounded lame even to her ears. Nothing about this was fine. “I need you to get a grip. Karl must have told you to expect something on this order. There’s nothing we can do, but you don’t have anything to worry about. They’re not looking for anything of yours.”

  She patted Greg’s arm and moved around him. She walked toward the police officers. Detective Waters stepped forward. He handed her the warrant.

  “Miss Quinn, we have been looking for you. Where have you been?�
�

  She ignored the question. Her eyes fixated on the paper, but in reality it could have been blank. She couldn’t make out a word. “I assume everything is in order.”

  She looked back up at the man. Her heart hammered wildly. She was in trouble. She saw the anger in his eyes.

  “Cam…” Greg begged her for attention.

  She turned slightly to him. “Greg, go down to Muggs and get some breakfast. You’ll feel better. If you stay here, you’ll only get more upset. I’ll handle this end. It’s going to take awhile,” she urged him. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  For a moment, she thought he would protest. His eyes reflected his discomfort. She prayed he would leave and leave now. Her fear was that he would react with his instincts and start ranting about Zach. She didn’t need another worry.

  “I don’t know, Cam,” he muttered. “It’s not right. They shouldn’t be here.”

  “Go, Greg. Trust me. I’ll take care of your stuff. I promise.”

  With the greatest reluctance, Greg nodded. Her apprehension eased when he grabbed his coat and walked toward the door. She walked to the window and watched him walk down the street.

  “Worried he might say something…show us something?”

  She turned back to Detective Waters, who stepped in front of her. She saw it in his eyes. No, she didn’t have to worry about Greg…they were interested in her.

  “I’m sorry, Detective. This kind of thing upsets Greg. Anything out of place upsets Greg. I can assure you it has nothing to do with any knowledge you think he might have about your case.”

  “I’ve already talked with Mr. Mobley,” Waters stated as a fact. “It’s you who I have a few questions for, which I believe may be better served at headquarters.” He made a gesture toward the door. “If you don’t mind.”

  Cameron grimaced, hoping that she hadn’t betrayed her concern for what Greg might have said. She didn’t have an option. She said nothing, but followed obediently.

  She had lost track of time. It had been hours sitting in the hard backed chair. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate or drank anything. It didn’t seem to be a concern for the officers who had left her alone in the room. Across from her was a two-way mirror. She wondered whether they were watching, or had truly forgotten about her.

  The questions Detective Waters had tried to ask, intimidating questions, had been left unanswered. She had simply ignored all their questions. No threat would make her betray her brother. There was no way she would allow another injustice to happen to her family.

  At this point, she had tuned them all out—vague threats. She had said nothing, only asking for Karl. She waited.

  Suddenly, the door opened. “Ready to go?” a familiar voice asked her.

  Relief flooded her. She didn’t wait for another word to leave the tiny room. She grabbed her coat and followed Karl out the door.

  “About time. What took so long?” Cameron asked, unconcerned about her own situation. She rushed to keep up with Karl, who seemed irritated. “Where’s Zach?”

  Abruptly, he stopped and halted her in her tracks. He grasped hold of her shoulders. “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing? Taking care of your brother while you were out doing heaven knows what. They are really pissed off at you. Are you insane, Cam?”

  Cameron’s lips pouted. Beyond exhausted, she sighed heavily. Karl’s eyes stared into hers; neither gave an inch until a group emerged, walking around the corner. Her eyes lit up. She caught sight of her brother followed by her father; a sense of relief overcame her. The feeling quickly dissipated.

  She could feel eyes staring at her. She turned. Darren.

  She stiffened as his gaze cut into her. Every nerve ending went on alert. He stood in the doorway, watching the interaction. He looked every bit the intimidating, ruthless, and merciless attorney. Dressed in a navy suit with his tie loosened, as if his day had been as long as hers, his dark, solemn eyes fixed on her face.

  His expression betrayed no emotion. He walked directly up to her. “Miss Quinn, let me introduce myself. ADA Darren Kennedy.”

  She stood without a word, momentarily taken back. She could hardly breathe. Her eyes never left him.

  The silence was broken by Zach’s new lawyer. Ralph McCormick cut his way through. “I believe anything you want to say to the Quinns you can say to me, Kennedy. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all, McCormick,” Darren replied, not turning away from his objective. “Just explain to your clients the severity of evidence tampering.”

  A response lay on her lips. She felt Karl squeeze her arm tightly. Glancing up at his face, she refrained from any retort. Karl pushed her around the ADA, but she could feel his eyes still burning through her as they exited.

  Cameron watched her father drive off with Zach. McCormick told them in no uncertain terms that Zach had to move home with his father. He had to be on his best behavior. So far there wasn’t any hard evidence against Zach, but the police weren’t going to disappear, not on a case like this.

  In the best-case scenario, leads would take the police far away from any connection Zach might have had to the victim. Zach still vehemently denied knowledge of the victim online. Cameron believed her brother.

  McCormick acted as if he didn’t care whether Zach was guilty or not. Zach had become his client, so he’d get him off. He would meet with Zach on Monday morning. Karl would bring him in with her father. Until then, there would be no talking with any police, FBI, and especially not the media. He didn’t doubt that they would get wind of the situation. They always did.

  Karl brought Cameron home. The apartment was in shambles. She could only imagine Greg’s reaction. She didn’t have the heart to contemplate the thought.

  The door hadn’t closed shut when Karl grabbed hold of Cameron’s shoulders, pulling her almost eye to eye. He didn’t ease his grip when Greg emerged from his room.

  “Now, Cam, you have some explaining to do!”

  “What do you want me to tell you, Karl? Exactly what do you think I’ve done?”

  “I can guess, Cam.” His irritation carried over in his tone. “Do you know if you get caught, you will go to jail?”

  “Jail? Cam? Why?” Greg broke in. “She hasn’t done anything. Isn’t it about some murder?”

  “Yeah,” Karl agreed, releasing Cam from his grip. He sighed. “Zach’s screen name was linked to the latest victim of some serial killer. They believe he was the last one to see the victim alive, which would mean he killed him. And this victim is connected to two others. They’re looking for a damn serial killer!”

  “And you believe that Zach’s involved?” Cameron’s voice rose. “How could you even consider…?”

  “I didn’t say that, Cam. But it’s bad. It’s not the only lead they have. Somehow they have linked up his Escape to the last killing.” His eyes met hers. “Listen to me carefully and maybe something will sink into your thick skull. They are looking for evidence. They wanted Zach’s computer, car, and clothes he wore. My God, Cam, he was wearing my goddamn sneakers. I wonder how that happened. His car? How did that disappear? Do you think they’re stupid, Cam?”

  “They asked me questions,” Greg interjected, nervously biting the ends of his glasses. “They asked me if Zach was here Friday night. Did I know what his movements were that night? What I thought about him and his friend.”

  Cameron turned sharply to Greg; fear ran through her as to what his answers might have been. Dread reflected in her eyes, knowing there was no love lost between the two.

  Greg shook his head. “Don’t worry, Cam. I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that. I don’t for a moment think Zach could have done anything like the murders they are trying to link him to.”

  “What did you tell them?” Karl asked, not as confident that Greg wouldn’t have said something incriminating.

  “Does no one trust me?” Greg was irritated at being grilled. “I didn’t say Zach was a saint
by any means. I told them what I thought of him.”

  “And that would be?” Karl continued his line of questioning.

  Greg shot him a look of disdain. He tilted his head toward Cameron, who couldn’t breathe until she knew exactly what he had said. Did he tell them how disheveled Zach looked Saturday morning? Did he notice the blood on his sneakers…jeans? Did he tell them where his car was parked…that was, until she moved it?

  “I didn’t say much, Karl. Don’t like to talk to strangers.” His eyebrow twitched. “They twist things. Told them I don’t like him. He drains Cameron. She’s always looking after the irresponsible brat, taking care of one situation or other. I didn’t tell them I knew you did a research paper for him so he could pass French history. Wasn’t their business. I didn’t tell them, Cam.”

  “About Friday night?” Cameron pressed breathlessly.

  “Told ’em that he was here when I went to bed. You must have been working and he was here when I got up. He ate my pizza.”

  “Anything else?” Karl relaxed. Once Greg grasped hold of a subject, he didn’t let go. Cameron was certain the detectives heard about the pizza over and over again.

  Greg shook his head. He frowned. “Except told ’em Zach couldn’t have done it if it took any kind of thinking process. Wasn’t smart enough.”

  A small smirk escaped Cam. She could breathe again.

  “We need to clean up this mess,” Greg said. His conversation had ended. His concern turned to the state of the apartment.

  “I’ll do it, Greg. Don’t worry,” Cam said. She bent down to pick up the couch’s cushion and placed it back in its spot. She didn’t know whether she could return it to its previous state. The police had taken pains to ensure complete wreckage of her apartment. She was going to have to replace some of the furniture to come up to Greg’s standard.

  “You still haven’t cleared up my questions, Cam,” Karl said. He leaned down and turned the end table back up. “Zach’s not out of the woods by any means. If he hasn’t done anything, where’s his computer and car, Cam? Why were all his clothes either washed in our washer or at your dad’s? Why was he wearing my shoes? Where are his?”