Allison Brennan - Silenced

“Who killed Wendy James?”

“I don’t know!”

“You have to go to the FBI with this information. They have no idea about Judge Morgan, and they’re just now figuring out the blackmail, but they don’t have names or motive.”

“I’m not going to the FBI. They need to figure it out themselves. And they’re close. After talking to Noah and you, I think they’re very close.”

“How many innocent people are going to die because you’re trying to protect your ass?”

“I didn’t figure it out until Chris was killed this morning.” He looked at the clock. “Yesterday morning. I can’t believe the feds haven’t put it together!”

“Noah didn’t tell you everything, but they don’t have all your information. They don’t know that Wendy was a prostitute, but they did find a room where recording equipment had been.”

“Had been?”

“It was cleaned out.”

Sean watched Paxton carefully. He was used to playing God. Sean wanted to take him down a peg.

“Five people are dead because you remained silent.”

“That’s not what happened!” He pounded his fist again. “I didn’t have anything to take to the police! I haven’t even really been blackmailed. I simply got the threat from this elusive they about Lucy’s note and my locket. They’re waiting to use it; I have to find them before they do.”

“These meetings were three weeks ago.”

“Correct.”

“And no one has asked you to do anything specific.”

“Correct.”

Sean sat back down and opened his laptop.

“Do you remember the trial that Judge Morgan was running when he killed himself?”

“No-I think it was a homicide. He sat on a lot of capital cases.”

Sean did a quick Internet search. “Commonwealth of Virginia versus Thomas Joseph Crandall. Ring a bell?”

Paxton shook his head.

Sean ran a program to pull out all the data he could find on Crandall.

“Anyone else?”

“Excuse me?”

“Anyone else you know about who Ivy or Wendy were blackmailing. We need a connection between those being blackmailed. And since they haven’t asked you to do something yet, we don’t have that-except we have a list of people who had access to your office that week. So think! Who else in the last year or so has voted in a way that had you suspicious?”

Paxton leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Sean thought he had fallen asleep. Maybe everyone was for sale and the list was too long to remember.

Sean read the report on Crandall. The thirty-three-year-old mechanic had been accused of killing a bank executive for no apparent reason. He refused to talk, had a history of misdemeanors and one felony hit-and-run when he was eighteen, which landed him three years in prison. It seemed like an open-and-shut case, though it was odd that even the prosecutor found no apparent motive.

There was a retrial, with a change of venue because Crandall’s attorney argued that after the suicide of Judge Morgan the jury pool was tainted. Morgan was a known law-and-order judge with tough sentencing standards. The case was moved from Fairfax to Richmond, and a judge dismissed the case with prejudice because of prosecutorial misconduct. Crandall was a free man. He spoke to no one except his attorney during the entire yearlong process.

“There’s Gene Carpenter.”

Sean looked at the senator, who still had his eyes closed. “Who’s he?”

“Senator Carpenter. This was over a year ago. He’s a friend, and I believed his excuse, but last week he told me he’s not seeking reelection. One term in the Senate-it’s rarely done.”

“And he did what exactly?”

“The bill had something to do with a federal grant, but it was related to government unions. Gene was a big supporter of unions in general, but he opposed government unions on the grounds that no one represented the taxpayers in the negotiations. He wouldn’t have had a complete change of heart on something like this, not without making a floor statement or publicizing it. I called him on it, and he said his wife had convinced him he needed to change his mind on the matter. It didn’t sound right, because I had met her a few times and she seemed very uninterested in politics. But I let it slide because pillow talk always wins.”

Paxton leaned forward and pulled up the legislation on his computer and printed Sean a copy.

“I don’t know how this helps,” he said.

Sean took the paper. “If you’re right about Carpenter, it tells me that someone who benefited from the passing of this bill is involved. That, coupled with your list of appointments, will narrow it down. Wait-”

Sean stopped mid-sentence.

“Wendy James worked for a lobbyist, correct?”

“DSA.”

“Does that stand for Devon Sullivan and Associates?”

“Yes.” Paxton rose from his desk and leaned over to look at Sean’s laptop.

“Bingo! DSA carried the bill your friend caved on. Devon Sullivan had a meeting with you the day you noticed the locket missing.”

“Devon Sullivan.”

“You know her?”

“Yes, but I know her husband better.” Paxton sat back in his chair, his face surprisingly calm. “I will kill him,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Who are we talking about?”

“Her second husband is Clark Jager.”

The name was familiar. “A criminal defense lawyer, correct?”

“Yes. He-”

Sean interrupted. “He represented Crandall, the guy who was on trial when Morgan committed suicide.”

“He also represented Fran Buckley.”

“Lucy’s former boss?”

“She’s bitter and angry and hates me. She knows not to say anything against me because I know far more about her that never came out. But she knew I wanted Monique’s locket. She might have thought it was for a reason other than nostalgia.”

“I think she’s right.”

Paxton stared at Sean and shook his head, but his lips curled into a snarl, reminding Sean that they were enemies. “I think we have our blackmailer.”

“We need to take this to the feds.”

“It’s two in the morning. I’ll think of a plausible reason to talk to Noah Armstrong at nine about Devon Sullivan. I’ll steer him in the right direction. You have seven hours to find the locket.”

Friday

“Thank you for agreeing to talk with us,” Kate said over the speakerphone after introductions. Kate and Lucy were in their family room, the files spread around them. Hans was patched in on the conference call from his office at FBI Headquarters. Kerry, Mrs. Carson, and Agent Rachel Burrows were at the Carson house in Richmond.

Kate informed Kerry that they were recording the conversation.

The situation had become more volatile than they’d planned when Mrs. Carson wanted to wait until she could find a lawyer to represent Kerry’s interests. The other missing girl, Bryn, was also staying at the Carson’s. She was Kerry’s fifteen-year-old sister. Hans convinced her that they had no intention of prosecuting Kerry, that they were trying to find Ivy before she ended up dead. Time was critical.

Kerry wanted to talk, and once Mrs. Carson reluctantly agreed, it was early Friday morning. Dawn had just broken by the time they had everyone on the phone.

Kate began asking the questions. They quickly recounted what Kerry had already told Rachel, then Kate said, “The arson investigator said that the cause of the fire was inconclusive. Meaning, he needs to investigate further as to whether the fire was arson or not.”

“It was on purpose,” Kerry said. “Ivy smelled alcohol and saw someone in the next yard, then woke everyone up.”

“Alcohol?”

“The kind they use in hospitals.”