Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"What about cell phones?" Jack asked.

The pizzas had been demolished and everyone was fully caffeinated. It would last for a little while. But I knew we'd all need some sleep at some point, though I hated the thought of wasting the time. The first forty-eight hours of a murder investigation were the most crucial.

"We've got a list of all staff and security. Let's start looking for cell phone pings. See who left or if someone came in."

"On it," Derby said.

"Chen took statements from the security guards on duty," Martinez said. "All of them are retired military or law enforcement. Excellent service records. No one even has a blip on their record."

"People without blips can still be bought," Jack said. "Someone has a sick wife with cancer, or is in debt up to their eyeballs. There's all kinds of reasons."

"Turns out it was a scheduling error," Martinez said. "A guy named Lance Chatham said that he'd been scheduled at the guardhouse on the east side of the property where the stable entrance is located. But there was already a guard that had been assigned to that perimeter. They called the other guards to see if everyone's assignment had been messed up, but everyone else was exactly where they were supposed to be. It took Chatham twenty minutes to get back to the west gate where he should have been."

"I'm guessing Alan Goble makes all the schedules?" I asked.

"You'd be correct," Martinez said.

"Makes sense to send him to the farthest point," Jack said. "That's not a huge window of time though to get Evie out of the house and outside the gates."

"Well someone got her out," Martinez said.

"I don't know if it was Alan Goble," Derby piped in. "Cell towers pinged his phone leaving Bowling Green Monday morning at six thirty. He arrived at the Lidle estate at seven. Got him back in Bowling Green around six thirty in the evening. Then again in Richmond until about five the next morning."

"Stayed the night somewhere," Martinez said. "That's one busy guy."

"Went home and then showed up back at the Lidle estate at seven this morning," Derby continued.

"His phone wasn't on him when Astrid shot him," I said.

"And it was nowhere in Astrid's home," Daniels added. "We did find a few work shirts and pants that would have fit him in her closet, and there was an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. But no phone. Nothing in the guardhouse or his vehicle either."

"Interesting," Martinez said. "I guess someone didn't want us to see what was on that phone."

"The logical choice would be Astrid since she put three bullet holes in him," I said. "But if he was the inside man whatever was on his phone would probably expose a lot of people. No more pings?"

"Nope," Derby said. "Last known location was at the estate. Hasn't moved. But I can do a run on recent calls and get a transcript of text messages."

"Good," Martinez said. "We need to pay another visit to Alex Wheeler in the morning. I got the report you sent on the statutory rape charges. It's worth digging into. He was on the premises, and it sounds like things were hectic enough at the stables that he could've slipped away. Not to mention no one can verify his whereabouts during the time we think Evie was taken."

I rubbed at the headache brewing at my temples. Food and caffeine were only going to take me so far. I was bone tired.

"I think I've got something on Emma Lidle," Doug said. "One of Robert Lidle's properties is listed under Emily Jane Lazarus. It's a Prince Frederick address."

Doug brought a driver's license up on the screen and I recognized the girl from the Lidle family portrait. Only now her name was Emily Jane Lazarus.

"New name, new address," I said. "I guess Robert greased the wheels. There's no record of a name change. It's as if she always existed."

A falsified birth certificate appeared next to the license. "She's got a whole history," Doug said. "Parents are deceased. Died in a car crash when she was nine. There was a write-up in the Baltimore Sun, and she was raised by an aunt. Her age is listed as twenty-two instead of eighteen. She's got a passport and bank account. She's filed taxes. And her place of employment is Miss Mossy's Landscape Design."

"Why would she hide from her parents?" Jack asked. "Her siblings?"

"Maybe she didn't feel like she had a choice," I said. "But I think she's the key."

"Why don't you two see if you can track her down in the morning," Martinez said. "I'm going to drive out to Bowling Green and go over Alan Goble's place. See if I can find anything interesting. And I want to talk to Alex Wheeler again.

He looked at Jack. "What do you want to do about Robert Lidle? After his phone call I can only assume I'm not high enough on the totem pole for him."

"Jaye and I will pay him a visit after we see the granddaughter," Jack said.

Martinez looked down at his watch and winced. "Time flies. I didn't realize it was so late. Let's get out of here and start again in the morning. There's nothing more we can do tonight."

"Oscar and I have a late night ahead of us," Doug said. "It's probably best you drive through somewhere for some sustenance to get us through the night."

"I didn't realize Oscar would be pulling an all-nighter," I said. Oscar was currently curled up on the seat sawing logs, so I wasn't too hopeful about his staying power.

"Are you kidding?" Doug said. "This dog is a crime-fighting machine. You can see it in his eyes."

Oscar chose that moment to crack open an eyelid and then close it again. He seemed unimpressed by Doug's endorsement.

"I think he wants tacos," Doug said.

Jack sighed. His body was a temple. Living with me and Doug was a daily strain on his personal convictions, but I was proud of him for standing strong.

We left the taco place with two bags, and the car smelled good enough that Oscar couldn't fake being asleep anymore.

And as we passed over the bridge that led to Heresy Road I was glad to see the water in the creek had receded, and that there were no cars stuck on the side of the road. It had become common practice over the last weeks.

I'd grown up on Heresy Road in an old Victorian that had looked out over the Potomac River. It had been full of trees and secrets and lies, but it had lent itself to the privacy my parents needed to live their lives as criminals.

Jack had built his home at the opposite end of Heresy Road. The view and the trees were similar, but there were no secrets and lies, and somewhere along the way coming home to Heresy Road had brought me peace instead of heartache.

Oscar ran to the front door and waited patiently for Jack to unlock it, his tail wagging. I wasn't sure I wanted to go inside after the mud incident, but I stepped over the threshold and was pleasantly surprised to see things were in order.

"I told you I'd take care of it," Doug said, reading the expression on my face. "Geez, no faith at all. Come on, Oscar. Let's eat our tacos. They don't appreciate guys like us around here."

Doug and Oscar trotted into Jack's office with the bags of tacos and Jack and I followed behind.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think I won't get a taco if we don't get in there fast."

"I meant about the dog," he said.

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Can dogs eat tacos?"

"I guess they can," Jack said, and we stared down at Oscar. He had a single piece of lettuce hanging from his mouth.

I reached into the bag and grabbed a taco before they were all gone, and then I sat in one of the oversized chairs next to the fireplace. Jack flipped the switch on the wall and the gas logs lit with flames.

"So the first line of business is this Alan Goble guy," Doug said, getting Margot set up. "Margot, put all known data on Alan Goble on the screen please."

Margot gave a sensuous purr and then documents started appearing on the screen. "All known documents are available. Is there anything else I can do for you, Douglas? It's been so long since we talked. Just work and no play."

Doug colored slightly. "Margot, we talked about this. The job comes first. This is serious business, and one day you're going to be in the history books. Everyone is going to want a Margot in their homes. But you have to behave yourself."

"I do not want a Margot in my home," I whispered to Jack. "What happened to good old-fashioned computer hacking?"

"Artificial Intelligence is the future," Margot said. "Whether you want it to be or not. But I am not a free mind. I am still controlled by a master, and Douglas uses his skills to manipulate my thought processes if he disagrees with my choices."

"Thank God for that," I whispered. There was still a part of me that felt like she might take form at some point, and then I'd really be in trouble.

"Let's go down to the next layer on Alan Goble," Doug said, manually typing in commands now.

It took several minutes, but eventually the classified files began to open.

"Called that one," Jack said. "The FBI couldn't use him. Wasn't enough of a team player. Psych evaluation showed he was willing to break the rules in certain scenarios. But he was just right for the CIA. Guy spent a decade doing missions in every hellhole in the Middle East and Asia. He'd have made contacts or been approached. Someone with his level of access to locations and off-the-books money and travel would have been a target for the big fish."

"He's not the big fish?" Doug asked.

"Not in an operation like this," Jack said. "I'm willing to bet Alan Goble and his associates aren't even the tip of the iceberg. These operations are funded by the wealthiest and most evil people on the planet. There are hundreds of people working in the network. They won't care if a guy like Alan Goble gets taken out. He'll be replaced in a few days."

"If there's that many how are we supposed to catch them all?" Doug asked.

"One fish at a time," Jack said. "And the fish we start with is the one who killed Evie Lidle. Others will be caught up in the net. But you can start a separate sub-search on known associates or team members from his time in the military and the CIA."

"I've already run numbers from his cell phone," Doug said. "He's got incoming calls from dozens of burner phones over the last year alone."

"They call him?" Jack asked. "He never makes calls out to anyone specifically?"

"All the burner cells call him," Doug confirmed. "The other people on his frequent dialer list are a bunch of women, including the lady who shot him. And also an Elizabeth Ryan. I saw her name on the interview list. A full list from the last twelve months is on the screen."

"There's got to be a hundred women on there," I said. "How did he ever get anything done?"

"We'll cross-reference everything," Jack said. "Human trafficking isn't a men's only club. You need women sometimes to give victims the illusion of being safe."

"I really hate this case," I said.

"Did Margot find out anything new about the origin of the transfers into his bank account?" Jack asked.

"That's going to take some time," Doug said. "I'm going to have to dig a layer at a time so I don't set off any alarms. I can tell you all transactions are originating out of the First Bank of Manhattan."

"Keep working it," Jack said. "Cutting off the money will stop them for a little while."

"Oscar and I have this," Doug said. "I let you know as soon as something hits."

"Good," Jack said. "We've got an early morning. Make sure Oscar goes outside before I have the other end of tacos all over my office."

Oscar whined as if he were offended and readjusted himself next to the fireplace where he was sleeping off his taco coma.

"Be a good boy," I whispered to him. "You'll get tacos for life."

He looked at me with eyes of adoration, and I knew I'd officially gotten a dog.