Andrea Kane - The Line Between Here and Now

“Please have a seat.” Fenton gestured at the tufted leather chairs that sat across from his desk. The desk was formidable-large, mahogany, expensive and situated in front of a wall filled with power photos. Photos of Fenton in his company headquarters. Photos of Fenton at a ribbon-cutting ceremony, in front of a Welcome to Bayonne, New Jersey, banner. In that photo, he was holding a bottle of champagne and christening yet another vessel, all with the backdrop of towering cranes and Fenton’s extensive-and expensive-fleet.

And, in the center of all the other wall photos, a marble-framed photo of a sleek and stunning ship, its elegant bow boasting the name Big Money.

The whole package-the desk and the wall-made a perfect boundary between Fenton and his guests.

Sure enough, he walked around to the buttery-soft brown leather executive chair behind the desk. “Can I offer you anything?” he asked before he sat. “A glass of wine? A soft drink?”

“Nothing, thanks.” Marc answered for them both in that tone of his. Hard. Tough. He, too, was setting the stage, showing Fenton the entirety of what he was up against. All kinds of strength, both mental and physical. Neither the successful businessman or the tough street fighter would scare them. So he could forget it. “Nice ship.” Marc pointed at the center photo.

A proud smile curved Fenton’s lips. “My first. All these years and still going strong. Are you a seafaring man, Mr. Devereaux?”

“You could say that. I was in the navy.”

“He was a Navy SEAL,” Casey amended.

“Oh, I see.” Once again, Fenton looked taken aback-and out of his league. He’d been comfortable with the conversation for exactly thirty seconds. Marc had made quick work of that.

Casey almost started to laugh.

“We’d really just like to get started.” Marc forged on while Fenton was still at a disadvantage. “As you well know, we’re racing the clock.”

“Yes, I know.” The grim expression that crossed Fenton’s face was genuine. He settled himself in his chair and folded his hands stiffly in front of him. “How can I help? I’ve offered Amanda a blank check-anything she needs to launch a wide-scale search for a donor. She’s fixated on the idea that the baby’s father is her only answer. I even offered to pay your fee. She’s proud. She won’t accept any more of my financial help.”

“Speaking of the baby’s father, that’s the reason we’re here,” Casey replied, pulling out a writing tablet and pen. “Tell us about Paul Everett. What was your take on him? How well did you know him? What was your reaction to his supposed murder?”

“Supposed?” Fenton’s brows rose. “Are you saying you agree with Amanda in thinking that Everett is alive? Or just that you’re following every possible lead to make sure that he’s not?”

“You mean, pursuing an avenue that involves taking Amanda’s money-or your money-in the process.” Casey spoke Fenton’s thought aloud, and continued without waiting for confirmation. “No, Mr. Fenton, we’re not just humoring your niece. Forensic Instincts is known for our direct approach to our cases and our clients. If we didn’t believe Paul Everett was alive, we’d be laying out that fact for Amanda. And we’d be encouraging her to discontinue our services. Rest assured, our company is on solid financial footing. We don’t need to squeeze money out of our clients. Nor would we. Our company’s growth relies on our reputation. I’m sure you can relate to that.”

“Of course.” Lyle Fenton was definitely off balance. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just surprised that you sound so certain about Paul. Do you have proof he’s alive?”

“Nothing concrete,” Marc replied. “But our leads are strong enough to convince us to pursue this aggressively. That’s really all we can say. Client confidentiality. I’m sure you can understand. I’m equally sure that Amanda will answer any questions you have directly.” He leaned forward, gripped his knees. “Paul Everett?” he prompted.

“Yes… Paul.” Fenton relaxed as he mentally recalled whatever speech he’d prepared. “I didn’t know him well. He had a great reputation in his field when he moved into the area. And his idea about converting the marina into a luxury hotel was intriguing. It had the potential to bring in big money, jobs…”

“And tourists,” Casey finished for him.

“Exactly. Which is why I was so ambivalent about signing on with his project. My dredging business would have profited greatly. But I’m not just a businessman, Ms. Woods. I’m also a local, and a member of the Southampton Board of Trustees. I had an obligation to do what was best for my community.”

“Which explains why you never committed to Paul.”

“Not only why I never committed my company resources. Also why I never threw my full support behind him. I had a lot of due diligence facing me. Permits had to be obtained-environmental, engineering, building-and I had no idea if the town would cooperate. It was my job to figure out what my town wanted before I moved forward.”

A regular Boy Scout, Casey thought in disgust.

“We know that your niece was in a committed relationship with Everett,” she said. “Did that ever sway you in the direction of helping him out?”

“No.” Fenton’s answer was quick and adamant. “I never mix business and personal matters. I couldn’t have built the kind of empire I have if I did.”

“Did Everett pressure you?” Marc asked.

A shrug. “He was a businessman. He saw the opportunity to make a killing. Did he keep after me to sign on? Sure. Did he harass me? No. I’m not sure what else you want to know.”

“We want to know if Paul Everett was as upstanding as Amanda thought he was,” Casey supplied. “Did he ever threaten you? Do you have reason to suspect he used illegal means to get what he wanted-blackmail, bribery, hooking up with the wrong crowd?”

“Right,” Marc added. “The kind of crowd who could make things happen-for a price.”

Fenton’s brows rose slightly. “Are you talking about organized crime?”

“I don’t know. Are we?”

Marc’s tone seemed to throw Fenton a bit. Or was it his subtle implication that Fenton could have that kind of knowledge?

“If Everett was working with the mob, I certainly didn’t know about it,” he denied quickly, keeping his tone even. But his gaze was still darting around, never settling directly on them. “I suppose it’s possible. No one dies-or is attacked and disappears-under violent circumstances without a reason. But, as I said, he and I weren’t friends. I have no clue who he associated with or where his cash sources came from.”

“What kind of a man would you say Everett was-personally?” Casey opted to veer in a slightly different, less confrontational, direction.

Fenton pursed his lips as if contemplating the question. “He was a personable enough guy. Our dealings were fine. But I know he had a temper. I heard him on the phone several times reaming out contractors. Then again, that’s not unusual for a real-estate developer. Paul was a perfectionist. His contractors weren’t. That causes friction.”

“So you’d say he was volatile?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

Convenient, Casey thought. Interesting that that was not a trait Amanda had even slightly alluded to in her description of Paul.

Curious about where Fenton wanted this to go, Casey played out the point. “Would you say Paul’s temper was enough to win him enemies?”

Another shrug. “Probably. Then again, most of the people in my business have tempers and enemies. That doesn’t mean they resort to violence. Or illegal dealings.”