Allison Brennan - If I Should Die

Lucy’s phone vibrated, and while Noah and Hart discussed facts and conjecture, she read the message from Sean.

It scared her. Not because Sean put her in an impossible situation of keeping information from the FBI, but because of the very real threat to his life.

Do not tell the Feds Bobbie Swain is in Spruce Lake. If they come in with their suits and attitude and cut her even an inch of slack, it will be a bloodbath. I don’t trust Paul Swain, but I have other evidence to back up what he said. I fully believe that Jon Callahan has a dangerous plan of revenge, and it has to do with whatever is going down tomorrow. Paul is counting on it-he’s using Callahan. I’m on my way to find him, because I think he’s the only one who knows where Ricky might be. I promised Swain I would protect his son .

If anything happens, know that I love you .

Martinelli came in. “We have a problem.”

A chill ran through her body. Lucy joined everyone in looking at the agent. He said, “The disk and computer files are gone.”

“Gone? Misplaced? Checked out?”

“Gone. But the last person logged in to look at the Paul Swain sting operation was Victoria Sheffield.”

Patrick was behind the wheel driving to Spruce Lake while Sean got to work on his laptop. “I really hope the Feds don’t screw this up,” Sean said.

“You were being difficult,” Patrick said. “Maybe you need a lesson in diplomacy.”

Sean glanced at him. “What was I wrong about?”

“Nothing, but you could have pulled out your charm.”

“Maybe,” he said without conviction. “So Victoria Sheffield took the disk of Bobbie Swain’s accusations two days before she met Swain. Who else knew she had the information? And what was on the disk that could get Bobbie thrown in jail?”

“You’re missing something,” Patrick said. “That letter from Ricky’s mother was written over five years ago. Sheffield took the disk five months ago.”

“The question is, did she take it for Jon Callahan or for Paul Swain? What might be on it?”

Patrick considered. “FBI interview, supposedly friendly. They’d ask her tough questions, as well as the same question in different ways to see if her story changes, but if they considered Bobbie Swain a victim, they wouldn’t have pushed too hard.”

“Would they verify the information?”

“They did-they got a warrant based on her testimony and arrested nine people involved in drug trafficking.”

Sean snapped his fingers. “If there’s an appeal and the warrant is deemed illegal, what happens to the convictions?”

“Well, any evidence obtained because of the warrant could be thrown out. Could be, Sean. It’s fruit from the poisonous tree. But in a situation like this-with a widespread drug network and multiple meth labs-they most likely had other evidence to back them up.”

“Unless Paul Swain wasn’t on the radar until Bobbie put him there.”

“I’m not a lawyer, Sean. But I’d imagine that if she told the truth about her brother’s operation, it didn’t matter what her motivation was. Bad guys cut deals all the time. They do it to get reduced sentences, to get off, to save their life.”

“She didn’t cut a deal.” Sean didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Bobbie Swain was, as Abigail wrote, a monster. “Looking at the timeline-she kills her husband, injures herself, goes to the police a changed woman. They feel sorry for her, she gives them the sob story about how she was raised by a brutish father and abusive brothers and she wants it all to stop. They take down Paul Swain and in walks Bobbie, free and clear.”

“Except she didn’t. She wasn’t in town.”

“She was running things, nonetheless.”

“That’s going to be hard to prove.”

“She’s here now.”

“Tread carefully, Sean. We don’t have any proof that Bobbie Swain has committed a crime. There’s a lot of circumstantial evidence, but nothing solid.”

“The witness who saw two figures near Weddle’s house.”

“Who couldn’t identify them in a lineup if she tried. She admitted she saw them from behind.”

“If we can place Swain in Potsdam.”

“Circumstantial. You’d need to have physical evidence that she was in Weddle’s house.”

“And you wonder why I’m not a cop. You know she’s guilty.”

Sean saw a new message on his email. “Dillard came through. Here are Jimmy Benson’s phone records.”

He scanned the numbers and compared them to a list he had compiled. “On Wednesday, Ricky called him at ten-thirty-one a.m. One minute, probably left a message. Benson returned the call two hours later. They spoke for three minutes.” That made sense-Benson was on duty, he’d probably been at the lodge putting out the fire when Ricky first called. “According to Dillard, he left early Wednesday afternoon, taking sick time. We don’t know where he was from then until he showed up at the Lock amp; Barrel. The bartender didn’t remember when he came in, but he left shortly before seven. He made one call after he left the bar. Jon Callahan. Two minutes.” One more thing to ask him about.

Sean glanced at the time. “It’s nearly four. Let’s regroup at the lodge, and I’m going to try to convince Callahan to come to us. If that doesn’t work, we’re going to the bar. Funny how both times I showed up there, he arrived within fifteen minutes.”

His cell phone rang. “Hey, Duke,” he answered.

“I set off a big alarm, so expect the weight of the federal government to come crashing down pretty quick.”

“What happened?”

“I ran the bullet casings as soon as I got them this morning. I cut some corners that I probably shouldn’t have, but nothing I haven’t done before. I got a call from ATF.”

“ATF?” The Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid agency rarely worked with Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. While they had high-ranking contacts at the FBI, in the military, and in Homeland Security, they had no go-to person in ATF.

“They didn’t tell me anything, but they had a lot of questions. How I obtained them, who gave them to me, where had they been recovered, when-I told them shit, because to be honest, the guy who called was a prick and refused to answer my questions. However, I sent him to your pal Noah Armstrong. I hope he can get the answers.”

“They were common casings.”

“That’s what I thought too, so I called in a favor with a friend of mine at the FBI lab. Emailed him pictures of the markings, and he told me the bullets were manufactured exclusively for law enforcement.”

Sean considered that revelation. “That doesn’t surprise me,” Sean said, almost relieved. “I told you about the corrupt deputy.”

“Maybe you’re right, but that doesn’t really explain why the ATF jumped down my throat less than three hours after I uploaded the technical data.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t need to tell you to be careful, Sean.”

“Believe me, I’m watching my back on this one.”

SAC Hart didn’t want a copy of the remaining Swain file removed from the office, especially considering the missing documents, but she allowed Lucy to read it in the conference room. Lucy took extensive notes. She would much rather have watched or listened to Bobbie Swain, but the written statement was almost as good. On the surface, Bobbie said all the right things, tears timed just right to elicit sympathy.

Lucy had a difficult time reading the file and thinking that a woman had faked abuse. And maybe she had been abused. But it wasn’t sexual, and Bobbie Swain stated as such.

Noah stormed into the room, Candela in his wake.

“Lucy, are you ready?” Noah’s tone was severe.