Andrea Kane - The Line Between Here and Now

“Why was your contact information withdrawn and replaced by a toll-free number?”

“For privacy and proper handling of phone calls.” It was Marc who answered. “Trust me, Detective, if there were any content issues, we would have demanded the video be pulled-or dropped our client. We’ve done neither. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we’re just hoping the video brings in more donors to check for possible matches-a long shot, but one that we agreed could at least make Amanda feel like she’s doing something.”

“So my question remains,” Jones said. “Do you believe that Paul Everett is alive?”

“Yes,” Casey stated flatly.

“What proof do you have?”

“We have a photo of a man that our facial recognition software tells us is Everett-a photo that was taken within the past few weeks. We have at least one person who believes she’s seen Everett regularly and recently. And we have strong professional gut instincts that convince us he’s alive.”

“Gut instincts?” Jones’s brows went up. “That hardly constitutes evidence. What are you basing these instincts on?”

“Experience-and me.” Claire spoke up for the first time. “I don’t know how much research you’ve done into the FI team, Detective Jones. But I suspect it was thorough. In which case, you know that I’m an intuitive. And there’s not a doubt in my mind that Paul Everett is alive.”

There was that typical look of skepticism that Claire had learned to expect-and to ignore.

“We’re a private investigative firm, Detective Jones,” Casey reminded him. “You require hard evidence. We don’t. We’re not going to court. We’re trying to find a dying infant’s father.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and folding her hands under her chin in an aggressive stance. “But let me turn the tables. What solid evidence do you have that Paul Everett is dead?”

Jones’s eyes narrowed. “I believe you called and made some police inquiries already. So you have your answers.”

“I do. And everything I heard was speculative, suggesting, but not proving, a no-body homicide. Without a corpse, all you can do is draw a logical conclusion. But not a concrete one.”

That one made Jones visibly uncomfortable. “Is your theory that the man’s been walking around with amnesia for the past eight months? Or that he’s in hiding?”

“Amnesia isn’t really on the table,” Marc replied with the same note of sarcasm in his tone as Jones had. “Other than that, anything is possible. I’m sure you checked out Everett’s background, his business dealings, his potential enemies and his friends and colleagues. There could be dozens of reasons for his disappearance. But, frankly, that’s your problem. Ours is just finding him.”

Jones’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Withholding evidence is a crime, Mr. Devereaux.”

“And discussing our case is unethical, Detective Jones. Casey just told you the only solid evidence we have. If we had more, we’d be sharing it with you. I was an FBI agent. I know the law.”

Casey had to bite back a smile on that one. Marc knew the law, all right. He also knew how to break it.

“We’re the least of your concerns, Detective,” Casey said aloud. “We have no plans of hiding any evidence from you that we stumble upon. But we will keep hunting down Paul Everett. And I believe we’ll find him. In the meantime, you have more pressing problems to contend with. A few hours ago, Congressman Mercer met with the media and made a personal appeal to find blood donors for our client’s infant son-an appeal that will make the evening news cycle. Once that happens, and once people start putting together the YouTube video and the congressman’s plea, your phone will be ringing off the hook. So I hope you have all your ducks in a row-and a good media person. You’re going to need it.”

Jones’s lips tightened. “Thank you for the advice, Ms. Woods.”

“Anytime.” Casey rose, placing her business card on the table. “Call us if you have any further questions. And we’ll do the same with you.”

Jones watched Casey, Marc and Claire leave. He waited until they’d walked their bloodhound, then climbed into their van and driven away.

He entered a number on his cell phone and pressed Send.

“It’s Jones,” he said when the call was answered. “Consider this a heads-up. This Forensic Instincts team has skills and smarts. They’re not giving up. And they’re putting the pieces together. I’m doing my part. I’ll beef up my file and run as much interference as you want me to. But I’m telling you now, you don’t have much time.” He paused. “And neither do I.”

“We’re making a lot of people nervous,” Casey stated as she accelerated onto the highway and headed for home. “Fenton. Mercer. The cops.”

“Do you think Jones’s division is just worrying about covering their asses, or do you think there’s more here?” Marc asked. “Jones could be dirty.”

“Everybody’s beginning to feel dirty,” Claire said in exasperation. “I haven’t had a positive feeling all day-except when the Mercers gave blood.”

“You think Cliff Mercer is a match?”

Claire shugged. “I have no idea. That’s not what I meant. I just meant I had a sense that he was glad to help, even if he wasn’t too happy about the reasons why.”

“What else did you pick up on?”

“A slew of conflicting emotions. When I shook his hand, my palm was actually burning. He was nervous, worried, resigned, caring in an ambiguous way and trapped in a tangled web, partially of his making.” Claire chewed her lip thoughtfully. “There’s no doubt that he’s in Fenton’s pocket, or that he has a personal tie to Fenton. A strong personal tie, which would go along with Ryan’s determination that he’s Fenton’s son. But the real ugliness I picked up on was from Fenton. He’s one cold, single-minded man.”

“Capable of murder?” Marc asked.

Claire blew out a breath. “I can’t answer that. Everyone’s capable of murder. But has he committed one? I don’t know. All I can sense is how guilty he feels, which is not at all. If he committed a crime but feels no regret, there’s less explicit energy for me to pick up on. But negative energy? That’s there in abundance. And, for the record, Hero didn’t like him much, either. He barely glanced at Fenton when he walked over to Mercer in the parking lot. On the other hand, he sniffed Mercer out thoroughly. No negative reaction there. Just a good memorization.”

“I’d have to agree with Claire’s assessment,” Marc said. “Mercer’s smooth. But I don’t see an evil guy. I’m sure he’s way deep into Daddy’s pocket. But that’s not our problem. Paul Everett is our problem. And I just don’t see Mercer having anything to do with his disappearance-at least not directly.”

“Nor do I.” Casey frowned. “But we’re missing something here. I just don’t know what. And without figuring out what that something is, we’re not going to find Paul Everett.”

Ryan came upstairs the minute he heard the team’s voices in the front hallway.

“Anything?” he asked, squatting down to roughhouse with Hero.

“Yes and no.” Casey filled him in on what happened at the hospital and on the surprise phone call and meeting with Detective Jones.

“We’re worrying the cops.” Ryan rose, a speculative expression on his face. “That’s interesting. Especially since I can’t find a damned thing on Everett that doesn’t make him sound like a Boy Scout-other than those periodic bank withdrawals. Same thing with Morano. But, clearly something exists. So I say we use the little critter to check out Morano’s office. It’s time to figure out what’s going on-who he meets with, what his relationships are with his contractors, and who might be extorting twenty grand from him every six weeks.”