Barry cleared his throat and said, “We know this is difficult for you, Mrs. Worthington.”
She nodded, glanced at Lucy, then turned back to Barry. “Thank you. I know you’re just doing your job, and I appreciate that.” She rose from her seat, turned her back to them, and stared out into the garden.
Barry narrowed his eyes at Lucy, then walked over to Adeline and said, “Why don’t we sit back down? I only have a few more questions.”
Barry steered Adeline back to the couch. Her questions were valid, though perhaps she should have asked them more diplomatically. Maybe Lucy was projecting, because it bothered her more than it should that Adeline had told Jolene about her father’s death over the phone. Yet Barry himself had been blunt with Adeline. What had Lucy done wrong?
Barry said, “So you don’t know if Mr. Worthington had any major health issues?”
“No. He played golf, rode his horses almost every day when he was in town. He’s not that old, he’d have been fifty-five this September.”
“Do you know why he flew from Dallas to San Antonio last night?”
“No. He would have told me. If not me, then Jolene. They worked together. He was grooming her to take over HWI. For me,” she added wistfully.
“I don’t understand,” Barry said.
“I wanted Harper to spend more time with me in D.C. He didn’t like the travel, or the socializing—he’s an accountant, he preferred numbers to people. But this election has been difficult—my opponent is an air force veteran, well liked, well funded by his party. Harper recognized that us being seen together was good for my career, and he supported me fully. He was the one who urged me to run in the first place when Roy—Roy Travertine—died while in office. Roy and Harper had been very good friends. But Harper was the face of HWI, so he couldn’t take much time off. It’s much harder for a male spouse in this business, than if our roles were reversed.” She pulled a tissue from her small jacket pocket and averted her gaze while she dabbed at her eyes.
“Agent Crawford,” she said after a moment of silence, “what really happened to my husband?”
“It appears to be natural causes, but because of the circumstances, we’re investigating. Not only because he was married to a federal official, but also because his company has several sensitive federal contracts.”
“You said he was with a prostitute … I can’t even imagine why he’d do such a thing.”
Lucy’s ears perked up. It was how Adeline had phrased the comment.
“But you believe he could have?”
“Before today, no. I’d never have considered it. Are you certain this witness is reliable? Perhaps he or she was mistaken.”
“Did you suspect your husband of having an affair?” Lucy asked, ignoring Barry’s sidelong glance.
“Of course not. Harper wouldn’t do that to me. He knows that my career is important, that this election is critical. My party has hired additional campaign staff, allowed me to spend more time in the district to make sure I’m doing what I need to be doing to show my constituents that I’m accessible. Harper was a kind and generous man.” But she looked away, as if she was thinking about something specific.
Before Lucy could press her, Barry asked, “Had your husband disappeared before? Taken a spontaneous trip?”
“Never. Not as long as we’ve been married.” She hesitated, then added, “He travels to Dallas monthly for business. HWI has an office there, because so many of his clients are based in Dallas. HWI also has a small office in Arlington, Virginia, just outside of D.C.—because of their military contracts. He goes there two or three times a year.”
Mr. Contreras entered the room. “Ma’am, I wouldn’t normally interrupt, but Senator Clarkson is on the phone.”
She quickly stood and looked both embarrassed and a bit panicked. “I forgot all about our scheduled call.”
Barry rose. “We’re done for now. I’ll be in touch when we have more information about your husband’s death. Would you like to release the information to the press or would you like the FBI to do so? We won’t be sharing any details of the investigation.”
She hesitated, then said, “Can I have a few hours? I need to wrap my mind around what’s happening.”
Barry nodded. “I would suggest you do so today, in case the press gets wind of it. We’d request you reveal no specific information until we have cause of death.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Agent Crawford.” She shook Barry’s hand, then Lucy’s. “Agent—I don’t remember your name. I’m sorry.”
Lucy handed her a card. “Kincaid,” she said.
“Right. Kincaid. Thank you. Mr. Contreras will see you out.” Lucy had the distinct impression that the woman was lying about something.
* * *
Barry was silent for the first ten minutes of the drive to Harper Worthington’s office. Lucy knew he was angry with her, but she didn’t make a peep.
“What in the world were you thinking going after a member of Congress like that?”
“I wasn’t going after her,” Lucy said.
“Your questions were hostile and insensitive. She’s in a position to have you removed from this investigation. I don’t think you need another black mark on your record.”
Lucy bristled. “I don’t know what you think you know about me or my record, but I stand by my questions. Without asking, she contacted the deceased’s daughter. Over the phone. That was insensitive.”
“We do not judge how other people handle their personal lives. The congresswoman is not a suspect under interrogation.”
“Perhaps.”
“I will have you removed myself if you step over the line again.”
“I didn’t step over a line.”
“She’s a grieving widow.”
“She wasn’t surprised about the prostitute.”
“She was in denial.”
“I don’t think so.” Two years ago, Lucy would never have challenged anyone verbally, particularly someone with seniority. But she’d learned that her unique experience coupled with years of intensive training gave her insights that not all cops had. Confrontations still weren’t easy for her, but she’d become more confident since Quantico.
“Were we even in the same interview?”
“One of the benefits of you asking the questions and me observing is that I can catch subtle psychological clues that aren’t always obvious. She was clearly surprised that he was in San Antonio. But I think she either knew or suspected that he was sleeping around. Maybe she didn’t think prostitute, but that he was having an affair. Her reaction was off.”
“People don’t react in a set way.”
“If she had broken down when you first mentioned the prostitute, then I would have believed her. If she had completely denied it from beginning to end, I would have believed her. But she went from No, my husband never would have to Well, I should have seen the signs without any leading down that path.”
“You’re reading far too much into this.”
Lucy bit her tongue. It was difficult, but she did. “If she knew that her husband had a proclivity for underage prostitutes, that makes her just as guilty as he is.”
“Stop. We’re not investigating a congresswoman who may have known her husband was using hookers to get his thrills. We’re investigating the death of a man under suspicious circumstances. The chances are, he died of natural causes. No blood, no external sign of injury, nothing. If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck—”
Lucy interrupted. “It looks like a duck, but we have no proof that it acts like a duck.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I’m saying, we need to find out why Harper Worthington spent hundreds of dollars to travel from a big city to his hometown to have sex in a twenty-dollar-an-hour motel with a streetwalker when he planned on attending a breakfast meeting three hours away with his daughter.”
Barry opened his mouth, then closed it. “Point taken. But I’ve be
en working Violent Crimes long enough to know that sexual deviants don’t care how much money they have to spend to fulfill their fantasies.”
Lucy’s stomach turned over and she glanced away. Barry was right. Perverts would spend anything for their sick fetishes.
She should know.
* * *
Sean had picked the house in Olmos Park not only because of the privacy the landscaping afforded, or the attention to detail inside, but because it was located in an established neighborhood filled with trees, quiet streets, and families. The weekends were alive, with kids riding bikes, families walking to the nearby park, and the splashing of water from neighboring pools before the brutal heat of early summer drove everyone inside for the afternoon. With the dangerous and often unpredictable lives he and Lucy led, he’d picked the most normal, traditional neighborhood for their home.
Sean hadn’t thought he’d like San Antonio when Lucy was first assigned here, but the city had quickly grown on him, and he and Lucy could be happy here—if he could help her overcome whatever was truly bothering her so deeply that it disrupted her sleep nearly every night.
His cell phone rang while he was finishing his morning workout in the small gym he’d added downstairs. He put a towel over his neck and grabbed his phone. He recognized the number and his heart sank. He could no longer put off this conversation.
“Rogan,” he answered.
“Sean, it’s Clive Devlin.”
“I was expecting your call.”
“Funny, I was expecting yours.”
“I got your message, but I had to assess a few things.” Sean walked down the hall to his office.
“I understand, especially if your answer is yes.”
He hesitated. “I can’t take the assignment.”
Devlin didn’t say anything for a minute. “If it’s the money, name your price.”
“It’s not the money, it’s the time.” He sat down at his desk and booted up his computer. “I can’t be gone for the next two weeks.”
“I can work around your schedule. I know New York is quite a ways from Texas, but—”
“Dev, I appreciate the offer. Truly, I wish I could say yes, the job would be a challenge and I love a good challenge. But right now, I can’t leave. Call my former partner, Patrick Kincaid. He’ll be able to help you.”
“You’re the best at handling this kind of sensitive situation.”
“I would drop almost anything for you, Dev. But right now—I have to be home.” If Lucy knew that he’d turned down a job because he was worried about her, she would be furious. She’d insist she was fine and try to hide her nightmares from him. He hadn’t told her about the offer, so she wouldn’t know he’d declined.
Devlin said, “I won’t push it, but there’s no one I’d want more than you on this project.”
“Patrick used to be the e-crimes expert at San Diego PD. He and I founded RCK East a couple years ago, and he’s now running the office. He was good before he became my partner, now he’s better. I taught him most of my tricks.”
Devlin laughed. “From you, high praise.”
“I’ll let Patrick know you’ll call.” He sent an email to Patrick with Dev’s information.
“Is there something wrong? All you have to do is ask.”
“I appreciate that, but it’s personal.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Patrick will call me if he needs to. I just forwarded you his contact information. You’re in good hands.”
“I wish they were your hands, but I understand. Take care of yourself, Sean.”
“You too, Dev.”
Sean hung up. He wished his decision didn’t feel so wrong.
He needed to find something to do locally. Money wasn’t the issue—he had a flush savings. If he took a couple big jobs a year he’d be fine. But he needed to challenge himself. Lucy had told him that he’d be bored if he didn’t have a puzzle to work out, and he’d told her he had plenty of things to keep him occupied. But she was right. He was bored. When he’d been a kid, boredom had gotten him into all sorts of trouble. He liked to think that now that he was thirty, he wouldn’t fall into the same bad habits. But he didn’t lie to himself: boredom had gotten him suspended from many schools, expelled from Stanford after he hacked into a professor’s email, and nearly cost him his freedom when he hacked into a bank while at M.I.T. The challenge of solving complex puzzles coupled with the thrill of straddling—and occasionally going over—the legal edge still excited him.
When he first moved to Texas, he’d put some feelers out to local companies, not only in San Antonio and Austin but all the way in Dallas and Houston. He’d had a couple of temp jobs, but most of the businesses wanted to hire him to run their day-to-day security. He didn’t want to work nine-to-five, be responsible for staff, have an in-house office, or wear a suit. It would be fun for a week or two, but once he got the operation up and running, he’d be bored again.
Maybe he needed a new approach. It was an election year, and he was well trained in event security. With his high-security clearance and contacts at the Secret Service as well as the FBI, maybe he could get on with a candidate or venue to run security for debates or speeches or rallies. He really didn’t like politics and had never met a politician he trusted with a dime of his money, let alone the national treasury, but such an assignment wouldn’t bore him because it would be different each time.
And more important, he would be at home with Lucy every night.
CHAPTER FIVE
The head of HWI’s security was a tall, broad-shouldered man by the name of Gregor Smith. Barry had called ahead, and Smith was waiting for them when they arrived. Gregor was fifty, looked and talked like a cop, and was the first private security chief Lucy had ever met who carried a gun on his hip.
Why did an accountancy firm need an armed security chief?
“Let’s go to my office,” he said. He bypassed the security checkpoint, which included a metal detector.
Smith’s office was on the second floor of the six-story building just inside the outer freeway loop. Though spacious, the offices were functional and efficient, neither cheap nor opulent. The atmosphere subtly said, You can trust us with your money.
“Thank you for seeing us on short notice,” Barry said.
“Harper Worthington was one of the best men I’ve ever known. I’ve been here for ten years, been the head of security for the last six. Anything you need, it’s yours. I already spoke to Harper’s administrative assistant. She’s on her way in to help pull any information or files that you need. But first—I need to ask—is this a homicide investigation?”
“Mr. Worthington died under suspicious circumstances, but there’s nothing to suggest homicide,” Barry said. “We’re awaiting the autopsy report, but even though we’ve expedited this case, lab work could take a few days.”
“What happened? Harper was supposed to be in Dallas last night.”
Barry didn’t answer the question. “The FBI is particularly concerned about any potential security breaches. Mr. Worthington didn’t have his cell phone on him when he died, and though his office key card was still in his wallet, we don’t know if and when he last used it. Since HWI has several sensitive federal contracts, we need to ensure that no information has been leaked.”
“I’ve already started an internal audit, cancelled Harper’s key card, and frozen his access. The last time Harper used his key card in this building was when leaving the parking garage Wednesday afternoon. We require the key card to both enter and exit the garage. We have scanners at all entrances that read the key cards whenever employees walk in and out of the building or into restricted areas.”
“Is your work that sensitive?” Barry asked.
Smith nodded. “We have banking information for all of our clients, confidential tax returns, court documents, audit material. While most of the business runs on computers these days—and we have state-of-the-art computer security—we also have hard copies of all our reports archived in a tempe
rature-controlled, fireproof vault. In addition to potential financial fraud, corporate espionage and insider trading are always a threat. Consider if a business had information about a pending court decision or an audit—they could use that information for illegal personal or professional gain.”
Smith pressed a few keys and said, “Harper arrived at our Dallas office at seven thirty-seven A.M. Thursday morning. He left there Friday evening just after four.” He clicked again. “His schedule has him having dinner with a client and his daughter, Jolene, at six on Friday.”
“We’ll need the client’s contact information,” Barry said. “Did you know that Harper Worthington flew into San Antonio last night and planned on returning to Dallas before this morning?”
Smith shook his head. “I would never have believed it if you hadn’t told me. It’s completely out of character. And it’s not on his schedule.”
Barry asked, “May we have a copy of his schedule?”
“Of course—his assistant, Ms. Alexander, will print out whatever you need.”
“Because of Mr. Worthington’s security clearance, and the fact that he was involved with a prostitute, we’re concerned about his travel and—”
Smith interrupted Barry. “Harper was not using a prostitute.”
“We have a witness.”
“Your witness is mistaken,” Smith said without hesitation. “Harper would never hire a prostitute. I want to know who this witness is. If that rumor gets out, Harper’s reputation will be tarnished. His business—hell, I don’t care about his business. I care about what it would do to his daughter. What it would do to his impeccable reputation in the community. It’s simply not true.”
Lucy’s ears perked up. “You seem confident,” she said, speaking up for the first time since introductions.
“Because I am confident. It’s not something I can put my finger on specifically, but I was an MP in the army for twelve years, then a cop for ten years in Corpus Christi. I trust my gut, and my gut tells me Harper is everything he appears to be. Harper was a religious man. Not a wear-it-on-your-sleeve holier-than-thou hypocrite, but quietly religious. He didn’t swear. He rarely drank, and when he did it was usually with a client. He raised his daughter after his wife died of cancer. He didn’t even start dating again until Jolene was in college. In fact, before he met Adeline I don’t think he saw anyone regularly. His entire life was HWI and Jolene.”
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