Chapter Sixty-eight

FBI Field Office

Philadelphia

Wednesday evening

Gregson nodded to Astley and said to Carla, "Ms. Cartwright, I asked you to come back this evening because we have reason to believe you own a prepaid cell phone that hasn't yet been found in our search of your house or office. Where is it?"

Carla Cartwright gave her a blank look. "A prepaid phone? A burner? Why would I own such a thing?"

"We have irrefutable information that you indeed do, Ms. Cartwright."

Astley said, "A perfectly reasonable explanation, Agent Gregson. What are you getting at?"

Gregson said, "And the name of this friend?"

Cartwright shrugged. "Honestly, it was a while ago, I'm not sure. I only remember he was unable to attend the function."

"Asked and answered. Let's move along, Agent Gregson," Astley said.

Astley said, "Agents, you know you can't tie any such communications to my client specifically. Your search of her local cell tower traffic is nothing more than a crude attempt to implicate her. It's Archer Navarro you should be trying to find, his brother you should arrest—again. My client has already told you everything she knows about this debacle. She admitted to you yesterday, after hearing the recording, she overreacted when Rebel Navarro visited her on Saturday, a natural reaction.

Gregson looked down at her watch, then at Savich. He said, "Ms. Cartwright, have you ever been to Barcelona?"

Cartwright froze.

Astley said, "Come on, Agent Savich, why this ridiculous question?"

Savich continued. "Any plans to go to Marrakesh, Ms. Cartwright?"

Astley struck his fist against the tabletop. "Enough! If you have nothing more appropriate to ask, we're leaving."

"I'm Special Agent Sherlock. As I'm sure Ms. Cartwright already knows, this is Sasha Navarro, and Special Agent Ruth Noble and Mr. Archer Navarro. I apologize for being a bit late, but we had an emergency to attend to before we could leave Barcelona. Mrs. Navarro had a bullet wound in her arm and had to be treated."

"No, no, that's a lie. I only wanted to leave." Sasha cupped her arm and moaned.

Gregson said easily, "If she attempts to leave, Mr. Astley, I will arrest her. Now, everyone sit down."

Sherlock smiled at him. "Please be patient, Mr. Astley. Agent Noble and I will clear up everything very quickly." She looked over at Sasha, who was staring down at her feet, looking for all the world like a teenager busted for drugs, defeated and pale, her hair in a ratty ponytail, a bloodstain on her white blouse. Still, she looked beautiful, like a tragic heroine. Cartwright was looking at Sasha too, trying to get her attention, and Archer was staring at Cartwright. It looked to Sherlock like there was both sadness and absolute fury in his eyes.

Astley interrupted her again. "Agent Gregson, this is nonsense, and inadmissible. We don't know—"

There was dead silence around the table. Astley and Cartwright both sat frozen. Sasha moaned again, hugged her arm.

"Sasha Navarro assaulted her husband when he found her phone and read Carla's final text: Archer's suicide not an option now. Meet you in Marrakesh. GO.

"She knocked him unconscious, bound him in duct tape. When Ruth and I arrived, she put a knife to his throat. Once we subdued her, she confessed. And these texts clearly imply the two of you planned the embezzlement months ago, well before Sasha married Mr. Navarro. Mr. Astley, let me be blunt. The federal prosecutors are going to lick their chops. Don't you think it's time to get the best deal possible for your client?"

Carla Cartwright said, "Shut up, Sasha. For once in your life, shut up."

Carla's lawyer stared at her, silent, stiff. Didn't she realize she'd just locked the door on her cell?