Reynolds looked at the file. This was a classic interrogation technique. She had used it herself. Bluff the subject by suggesting you had incriminating evidence that would catch him in a lie and hope he'd cave. The only thing was, she didn't know if Massey was really bluffing or not. She suddenly knew what it was like to be on the other side of the interrogation. It wasn't fun.
"Am I quite certain of what?" she said, buying time.
"That you have nothing to hide?"
"I really resent that question, sir."
He tapped the file with his index finger. "You know what has deeply distressed me about Ken Newman's death? The fact that on the night he was murdered, he had taken your place. At your instruction. But for that order, he would be alive today. Would you?"
Reynolds's face turned red and she stood, towering over Massey. "Are you accusing me of being involved in Ken's murder?"
"Please sit down, Agent Reynolds."
"Are you?"
"I'm saying the coincidence, if it is one, has me concerned."
"It was a coincidence, since I didn't happen to know there was someone waiting there to kill him. If you recall, I showed up almost in time to stop it."
"Almost in time. That was convenient. Almost like a built-in alibi. A coincidence, or perfect timing? Perhaps too perfect timing?" Massey's gaze burned into her.
"I was working another case and finished sooner than I thought I would.
Howard Constantinople can corroborate that."
"Oh, we plan to talk to Connie. You and he are friends, aren't you?"
"We're professional colleagues."
"I'm sure he wouldn't want to say anything that would implicate you in any way."
"I'm sure he'll tell you the truth if you just ask him"
"So you're saying there is no connection between Ken Newman's murder and the money showing up in your account?"
"Let me put it a little more strongly than that. I'm saying it's all bullshit! If I were guilty, why would I have anyone put a hundred grand into one of my accounts so close to the time Ken was killed?
Don't you think that's a little obvious?"
"But it wasn't really your account, was it? It was in your children's names. And according to your personnel records, you're not due for a Bureau five-year check for another two years. I rather doubt the money would be in the account at that time, and by then I'm sure you'd have a good answer in case anyone did discover that money had once been there.
The point is, if your husband's attorney hadn't dug it up, no one would know. That hardly qualifies as obvious."
"Okay, if it's not a mistake, then someone is setting me up."
"And who exactly would be doing that?"
"The person who killed Ken, and who tried to kill Faith Lockhart. Maybe he's afraid I'm getting too close."
"So Danny Buchanan is trying to set you up, is that what you're saying?"
Reynolds glanced at the Bureau lawyer and the representative from OPR.
"Do they have clearance to hear this?"
"Your investigation has taken a backseat to these more recent charges,"
Fisher said.
Reynolds glared at him with rising anger. "Charges! They're unsubstantiated garbage."
Massey opened the file. "So are you saying that your private investigation into Ken Newman's finances is garbage?"
On this Reynolds froze and then abruptly sat down. She pressed sweaty palms against the table and tried to get her emotions under control.
Her temper was not doing her any good. She was playing right into their hands. Indeed, Fisher and Massey exchanged what she saw as pleased glances at her obvious distress.
"We talked to Anne Newman. She told us everything you've done," Fisher said. "I can't even begin to tell you how many Bureau rules you've broken."
"I was trying to protect Ken and his family."
"Oh, please!" Fisher exclaimed.
"It's true! I was going to go to OPR, but not until after the funeral."
"That was so very considerate of you," Fisher said sarcastically.
"Why don't you go to hell, Paul."
"Agent Reynolds, keep a civil tongue in your head," Massey commanded.
Reynolds sat back and rubbed her forehead. "May I ask how you found out about what I was doing? Did Anne Newman come to you?"
"If you don't mind, we'll ask the questions." Massey leaned forward and made a pyramid with his fingers. "What exactly did you find in the safe-deposit box?"
"Cash. A lot. Thousands."
"And Newman's financial records?"
"A lot of unexplained income."
"We've also talked to the bank branch you visited. You told them not to allow access to the box to anyone except yourself. And you told Anne Newman not to tell anyone about it, not even anyone at the Bureau."
"I didn't want anybody getting to that money. It was material evidence. And I told Anne to keep quiet until I had a chance to dig further. It was for her own protection, until I found out who was behind it."
"Or did you want the time to get the money for yourself? With Ken dead and Anne Newman apparently not even aware her husband had the safe-deposit box, you would be the only one who knew the money was there." Massey stared directly at her; his tiny eyes resembled twin bullets coming for her.
Fisher piped in: "It's curious that when Newman dies you access a box with thousands of dollars in it that he had under a fake name, and about the same time, accounts controlled by you fill up with a hundred thousand dollars."
"If you're somehow trying to say I had Ken killed because of the money in the box, you're way off base. Anne called and asked for my help. I never knew Ken had a safe-deposit box until she told me about it. I had no idea what was in the box until after Ken was already dead."
"So you say," Fisher said.
"So I know," Reynolds replied hotly. She looked at Massey. "Am I being formally charged with anything?"
Massey sat back and put his hands behind his head. "You must realize how very, very bad this all looks. If you were sitting in my chair, what would your conclusions be?"
"I can see how you might have your suspicions. But if you just give me the chance-"
Massey closed his file and stood. "You're suspended, Agent Reynolds, effective immediately."
Reynolds was stunned. "Suspended? I haven't even been formally charged. You don't even have any specific evidence that I've done anything wrong. And you're suspending me?"
"You should be grateful it's not worse," Fisher said.
"Fred," Reynolds said, half rising from her chair, "I can understand your taking me off this assignment. You can transfer me somewhere else while you investigate, but don't suspend me. Everybody in the Bureau will assume I'm guilty. It's not right."
Massey's face did not soften at all. "Please turn in your credentials and sidearm to Agent Fisher. You are not to return to your office. And you are not to leave the area for any reason."
The blood drained from Reynolds's face and she fell back into her chair.
Massey went to the door. "Your highly suspicious actions, coupled with the murder of an agent and reports of unknown people impersonating FBI agents, do not allow me the option of merely reassigning you, Reynolds.
If you're innocent as you claim, then you'll be reinstated with no loss in pay, seniority or responsibility. And I'll make absolutely certain there's no permanent damage to your reputation. If you're guilty, well, you know better than most what awaits you." Massey closed the door behind him.
Reynolds stood to leave, but Fisher blocked her way.
"Creds and gun. Now."
Reynolds slipped them out and handed them over. It was as though she were giving up one of her children. She looked at Fisher's triumphant features. "Gee, Paul, try not to enjoy it so much. You'll look like less of a fool when I'm exonerated."
"Exonerated? You'll be lucky if you're not under arrest by day's end.
But we want this case to be airtight. And if you're thinking of runnin
g, we'll be watching. So don't even try."
"I wouldn't dream of it. I want to be here to see your face when I come and get my gun and badge back. Don't worry, I won't ask you to kiss my ass."
Reynolds walked down the hallway and out of the building, feeling as though every pair of eyes in the entire Bureau were fully upon her.
CHAPTER 37
LEE GOT UP BEFORE FAITH, SHOWERED, CHANGED his clothes and then stood next to the bed, watching her as she slept. For a few seconds he allowed himself to forget about everything except the wonderful night the two had spent together. He knew it had changed his life forever, and that thought scared him to death.
He went downstairs, moving a little slowly. Parts of him were aching that hadn't in a long time. And it wasn't just from the dancing. He went into the kitchen and made coffee. While it was brewing, he thought about last night. In his mind, Lee had made a very strong commitment to Faith Lockhart. Perhaps an old-fashioned sentiment to some, but sleeping with a woman meant you had deep feelings for her, at least as far as Lee was concerned.
He poured a cup of coffee and went out to sit on the deck off the kitchen. It was already late morning and a warm sunny day, but off in the distance, Lee could see darkening clouds approaching. Ahead of the storm was the twin-prop plane as it floated in for a landing with another load of passengers. Faith had told him that during the summer months, the planes might make ten or so trips a day. Now it was down to three; morning, noon and early evening. And so far none of the plane passengers had remained on this street. They had driven off to other places, which suited Lee just fine.
As he sipped his coffee, Lee concluded that he did have such feelings for Faith, even though he had only known her a few days. Stranger things had happened, he guessed. And their relationship had certainly begun on the shakiest of grounds. After all she had put him through, Lee knew he would be justified in hating the woman. And after what he had done to her that night, drunk or not, she would be right to hate him. Did he love Faith Lockhart? He knew that right now he didn't want to be away from her. He wanted to protect her from harm. He wanted to hold her, spend every minute with her and, yes, have incredibly energetic sex with her as often as his body could manage.
Did that constitute love?
On the other hand, she had participated in a bribery scheme involving government officials and was wanted by the FBI, among
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