Shira slammed the door shut. It was rare for her to lose control of her emotions. She’d managed to contain herself in public, but now back in the consulate office, she wanted desperately to punch a hole in the wall. What had possessed Yosef to agree to a meeting with the Americans? The talks were completely one-sided, Terry offering what they’d learned. For free. No bartering, no give and take. They left the room with nothing other than a dead end thanks to Shelby, the FBI agent. Enough was enough. Terry wasn’t cut out for the mission. She picked up her phone and told Yosef exactly how she felt. Two days later, Terry was back in her Haifa lab.
Chapter 36
Salt Lake City
Wang knew Franklin didn’t like him coming unannounced. Or at all for that matter. Actually, he’d been emphatic about it in recent months. I’ll meet you whenever, just don’t come to my house. He assumed it was because of his mother and the condition of their house. Wang knew Franklin’s mother had problems and was anything but a skilled housekeeper. He didn’t care but Franklin did, so he never pushed the matter. Today he had no choice. He was scared to call or text him in case someone was watching. He knew it was paranoid but better safe than sorry. Franklin would just have to understand. He pulled up to the house. It was in awful shape. Peeling paint, gutters askew, missing shingles. With all the money Franklin had made he hoped one day they would upgrade.
He got out of the car, climbed the steps and rang the doorbell.
***
Bernie got several clear closeups of the Asian man at Francine Oakley’s door. He would find out who he is. He couldn’t get a good look at who opened the door for him. In his side mirror, he noticed a black sedan pull up a few cars behind him and park, but no one got out. What’s that about? Did Francine spot him, call the police? He put the car in drive and made a U-turn, slowly passing the parked car and looked at the driver. The man-made full-on eye contact with him. He had the same perplexed look on his face that he did. Bernie kept driving away. He knew a Fed car when he saw one. Unmarked. He would need to play this right or he’d be in hot water. He could either leave now and try to figure out what was going on or stick around and take his chances. He pulled over and called Davis, who answered on the first ring.
“Any reason why the Feds would be scouting out your ex’s house?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone showed up while I was doing recon outside your ex’s house. Shortly after an Asian guy came over to the house. I’m texting you a picture.”
Moments later, Theo said, “Never seen him before. Who is he?”
“Still working on that.”
“This can’t be good. What the hell did Francine get involved with now?”
“Good question. As soon as I have something I’ll let you know.”
***
When Franklin heard the doorbell ring, he did what he always did. Wait for his mother to answer it. When the bell rang again, he knew she was down for the count, most likely in the drunken sleep of the dead. He checked the cameras. No point in pausing his work and going all the way to the door for a stupid salesman or proselytizer. Let them think no one was home.
He was surprised to see Wang’s mug on the screen. He switched to the wide lens option allowing him a look beyond Wang’s head. He was checking for that car. The one that had been there all day. Yes, it was still there. Earlier, he’d seen the bald guy get out and stretch his legs. Not only that, a second unfamiliar car was parked a few spots behind it. Everyone who lived on the block knew their neighbors’ cars, and visitors parked in the driveways. Strange cars stood out because strangers didn’t come by unless it was to sell something, check the utility meters or encourage voter registration.
He had sincerely hoped things wouldn’t go this far. But Wang literally brought trouble to his door. Unacceptable.
Franklin shut the camera feed, made his way to the door and let his friend inside.
***
Wang’s conversation with Franklin helped calm his growing sense of paranoia. He was glad his friend didn’t appear annoyed at him for showing up at his door and left with Franklin’s reassurances that he’d shut things down. They’d gone over every detail of the past few months, Wang finally convinced there was no way anyone could finger either of them. With any luck the whole thing would blow over when the Feds' leads ran dry.
Driving back to his place, Wang couldn’t shake that something was off. Things were strained between him and Franklin now that Wang knew what had happened to Cromwell, the CEO of OBooks. By the time he pulled into his parking spot, he was questioning if the friendship would weather the storm.
He needed some chill time. Instead of requesting a leave of absence, which could have raised a red flag, he’d called in sick. Franklin had encouraged him to “just act normal.” Wang didn’t know about normal, but he would resume his routine, be back at his desk in the morning. Tonight, he’d play a video game and go to bed early.
Wang entered his apartment, flicked on the lights, heading to the kitchen for a glass of milk. It always helped calm him. When he was a little boy afraid of the dark, his mother would come into his room with a tall glass of milk. He smiled at the thought.
“Happy?”
Wang nearly jumped out of his skin. A man was sitting in his gamer chair. Holding his controller. A lean man, built like a runner.
“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my apartment?”
The man turned on the screen, the loud game music filling the apartment. He then took hold of the AV cables and yanked them as if they were rubber bands. They snapped instantly. Wang made a beeline to the door. The man bolted up to standing, blocking his path. He was lightning fast, the sinewy muscles of his forearms bulging.
Wang felt his body tremble as he stepped backward. “What do you want?”
“It’s not about what I want.”
A deep sense of dread came over Wang. “Did Franklin send you?”
The man shrugged.
“B-but he’s my friend. I didn’t tell a soul.” He watched as the thug fondled the cable.
“You brought the Feds to his door, Wang.”
Wang let out a shriek. But his screams were drowned out by the gunfire of Cyberpunk 2077.
Chapter 37
Salt Lake City
He’d been sitting in his car watching the house for hours at a time. He wondered what Oakley did all day but breaking and entering were not in Bernie’s repertoire. He was aware that people would start noticing him. But at least he wasn’t alone. The Fed car had made an appearance early, then left. He’d taken a short drive to In-N-Out Burger and was unwrapping his meal when his phone rang. It was his IT guy.
“I found something on Davis. Scraped it from his old police file.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I did this on my own. Not part of the package.”
“Stop nickel and diming me. I’ll go to someone else.”
“Fine. Have a nice life.”
“Wait!”
“What?”
“How much?”
The man told him.
Seething, Bernie agreed to the terms. “So, what did you find?”
“I just emailed you the results. Have a look for yourself.”
Bernie hung up without a proper goodbye and opened his email. It was a police report. At first he didn’t understand what he was seeing. Oh, shit.
Bernie bit into his burger, mulling over the new info, when an Access-A-Ride van pulled up. He was expecting to see an elderly wheelchair-bound person exit the vehicle. Instead, it was a painfully thin young man, with patchy facial hair, moving up the house ramp in a motorized chair. The man punched in a code in a pad by the door and let himself in. Bernie lowered his window, focused his camera, and snapped a few pictures. Before the door shut, he heard the man yell, “Ma, I’m home. What’s for dinner?”
Ma?
This must be Franklin Oakley, Francine’s disabled son.
***
Bernie was about to call Theo and a
sk if he knew that his ex had a child, when a Fed car pulled up behind him. He watched in his side mirror as the man got out of his car and make a beeline for Bernie’s vehicle. He tapped on the window. Bernie buzzed it down. The man stuck an FBI ID billfold in his face. Bernie scanned the badge. “Agent Loomins,” he read. “So, now you wanna talk?”
“Consider it a courtesy. That man that came the other day, the Asian dude. He’s been found dead.”
“What the hell? What happened?”
“I’ll give you that information when you spill who you’re working for.”
“Deal. Hop in and let’s talk.”
***
“Let me get this straight. You were hired by some guy who cheated on his wife and had a kid out of wedlock, and someone is threatening him with that information, with DNA stats.”
“That’s about the long and short of it. Your turn.”
Bernie listened rapt as Agent Loomins shared what he was working on.
He was shocked to learn about Wang’s extracurricular activities. Stealing DNA? What the hell was this world coming to? The FBI was trailing him, hoping to confirm or deny his involvement. They’d been following him for over a week. When he hadn’t come out for his daily jog, the agent thought Wang might have picked up his tail. Instead Loomins found him hanging from the ceiling fan of his unlocked apartment, a suicide note left on the floor beneath him. In it, he fessed up to running the scam and not being able to live with the shame to his parents if he were caught.
The agent handed him a card. “Here’s the name of the guy running the investigation.”
Special Agent Jonathan Steadman.
“Steadman’s in LA now. Maybe you can help each other out.”
“Thanks,” Bernie said, though dubious. More likely than not it would be a one-way conversation. The Feds were notorious for keeping things close to the vest. “You’re leaving town?”
“Not a chance. I need to follow up with the local police on the deceased.”
“Good luck with that. “
With nothing left to add, the man got out and Bernie drove away.
***
Manhattan Beach, California
Jon was finishing a run along the narrow walkway between the beachside cottages and the sand, dog walkers and joggers passing him by. He came to a stop and checked his smart watch, gratified to see he was going farther without excruciating leg pain. Still, he knew he’d pay the consequences for the next several hours as his leg reminded him what it had been through years ago. The awful surgeries to fix the shattered bones.
Jon used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead and faced the ocean. Maybe he’d stick around for sunset. It was sure to be a spectacular sight. His thoughts turned to Terry. She was back in Israel. Without Gabe. He stayed in Austin to spend more time with his family and go back to work for his uncle. He hoped his friends would successfully manage the separation. Better than he had with Melanie.
Something happened after the meeting in New York that Terry left the country so quickly. Likely a result of Matthews’s stubbornness in holding back intel from the Israelis. With only days to go until the spyware sale, they had no new leads on the White Knight. He heard his phone ring in his earbuds and tapped one to answer. “Steadman.”
“Hi. My name’s Bernie Patton. Agent Loomins gave me your card.”
“You’re the private eye.”
“Guilty.”
Jon said, “I was expecting your call. Loomins told me your connection to my case.”
“Yeah. I may have some new info for you.”
With Matthews to answer to, this was terrific news. “What’ve you got?”
“I’m glad to help out, but I’d like to close the case with my client. I’d appreciate if you’d keep me in the loop with the case. Maybe we could share info.”
Jon wasn’t in the mood to barter for intel, but he knew he would if he had to. “I can’t make any promises. It’s federal territory. But if I can help you, I will. I’ll call you back from my office.”
Jon hung up, excited to have finally caught a break. He did some stretches, watching the sun creep closer to the horizon over the Pacific. Today he’d miss the sunset.
***
FBI Field Office
Los Angeles
Jon was trying not to be too obvious as he studied his boss. Matthews had lost even more weight. His cheeks were sunken and pale. They sat across the table from one another, empty takeout cartons of egg foo young and a phone between them. Bernie Patton was on speaker. The P.I. had given them a tangible reason to think there was more to the case. He’d sent his case notes and photos he’d taken outside the Oakley house.
Jon said, “It’s too convenient that Wang was found dead, leaving behind a typed suicide note. Granted the guy was a computer geek, but really?”
Each had a copy of the suicide note. It read,
My name is Jason Wang. I am a computer tech at ItsRelative. Over recent months I’ve sold stolen DNA records. My actions resulted in many people losing their jobs and lives. I veered far astray.
The Feds are on to me. My biggest regret is that my parents will learn what I’ve done. My arrest would destroy them. I can’t bear the shame.
Forgive me.
Jon said, “Wang didn’t have any reason to go after Davis.”
Doug said, “Unless his ex was paying Wang to mess with his new wife and kid. Maybe that’s why Wang went to the house. To discuss it or for payment.”
Patton said, “She wasn’t home when Wang showed up.”
Jon said, “Maybe he didn’t know that. I have a different theory.”
Matthews drummed his fingers on the table. “Let’s hear it.”
“Franklin was working with Wang. He’s the one sending the threats.”
Patton said, “He’s got no criminal history.”
Jon pursed his lips. “We don’t know anything about him.”
Patton said, “I have some info. Franklin Oakley used to work for that company, that’s where he met Wang.”
Jon said, “So, he also may have had access to DNA analysis methods. He knows the business. Wang was coming to talk to him, not the mother. Maybe to warn him of the impending investigation.”
Matthews said, “And they’re running all this from his house?”
Jon said, “Maybe, I don’t know. But Wang probably had a way to access the data and pass it along to Oakley. Then they sell it or blackmail people with it.”
Matthews asked, “What’s the motive?”
Neither Jon nor Patton responded.
Jon sighed. “Without motive, we have nothing.”
Matthews said, “Correct. We don’t have enough to get a search warrant of the Oakley house.”
Patton said, “Combine forces and nail the guy. You get your scammer and I make my client happy.”
Jon lifted a brow.
It was as if Patton saw Jon’s skepticism. “Okay, maybe not happy, but informed. Davis had fair warning.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told him to be prepared for anything. Things he may want to leave buried could be dug up.”
Jon got the sense Patton was holding out, but it was Matthews who chimed in. “What else do we need to know, Mr. Patton?”
“Good enough. As you already know, my client, Theodore Davis, hired me to track down whoever’s responsible for sending him what appears to be blackmail correspondence. He’s also concerned for his child who we believe is being stalked by the same person. It led me to his ex-wife where I met Loomins. I just received a call from one of my . . . colleagues, with info on my client.”
“You always background check the people who pay you?”
“I’ve learned it’s prudent to do so.”
Jon respected that approach. “I take it you found something on Davis.”
“If you send me your email, I’ll forward you what I’ve got. My resources are somewhat limited so maybe you’ll find out more. Anyhow, my focus is on finding the
blackmailer, not digging up my own client’s skeletons. I’d appreciate if you keep my name separate from whatever you find on Davis. You can see how that could be bad for business.”
“Understood. And thanks. If I can help your case, I’ll be in touch.”
Jon hung up, logged into his laptop, and navigated to his email. He found the one from Patton. It was a screen shot of a police report from twenty years ago. He forwarded it to Matthews, who read from his own device. He needed to get back to work. The email could lead nowhere, but it was all he had.
A man by the name of Theodore Davis had caused a motor vehicle car accident while under the influence. Two passengers were taken to local area hospitals with serious injuries. A minor was reported dead at the scene. No name was given due to the age of the deceased. Davis was disbarred, serving three years in prison on a manslaughter charge. He then went through a five-year process of getting his law license reinstated.
Maybe the earlier unexplained payments made from Davis’s private account that Patton mentioned were court-ordered restitution to the family of the dead kid, paid in installments. Made sense Davis hadn’t brought it up. It was a long time ago and he’d paid his dues. Not to mention traumatic. Jon wasn’t ready to judge the man too harshly. After all, if anyone knew about trauma, it was him.
***
Los Angeles Times Headquarters
Jon sat on the orange plastic chair beside Luanne’s desk. An identical desk faced hers. Though far messier, it was unoccupied. A rectangular nameplate sat close to the edge. Ed Hernandez. Last he’d heard
there was no update on the journalist’s condition. It was a reminder of how he got involved in the case in the first place. To find . . . and punish Ed’s attacker.
The newsroom was a hectic place, even more so than any police station Jon had visited. The vibe felt more like the time he’d visited the New York Stock Exchange. Loud, urgent. Jon knew Luanne was better suited to find any writeups about a twenty-year-old car accident. Through her job at The Times, she’d have easy access to the old papers.
Luanne looked up from her computer. “Believe it or not, we still haven’t finished uploading all the old microfiche,” she said, referring to the clunky decades-old device once used to catalogue the newspaper’s articles. “We’ll need to go down to the records room.”
Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3) Page 19