Deadly Sins (18 page)

Joseph Bailey bore no resemblance to his grandfather except, Jaid thought, for a faint air of entitlement. His pale brown hair was swept back from a high forehead, and his grandfather’s austerity wasn’t reflected in the expensive suit Bailey wore or the large diamond winking on his pinky. He was a bit flashier than Carroll’s more downplayed look of confident wealth, but maybe the appearance was deliberately cultivated. She supposed no one wanted to invest with someone who looked as though he were a step away from the poorhouse.

What was most surprising, however, was his candor.

“My grandfather called me last night,” he told them in his postage–stamp–sized office after refreshments had been offered and declined. “He was . . . agitated about your visit. Mostly because of your mention of me, I think. I brought a great deal of embarrassment to my family when I was a teenager. I think he’s afraid that all of it will be dredged up again.”

Jaid sent a look at Shepherd. “That wasn’t the impression he gave us. He seemed quite upset that you had been treated unfairly by Judge Reinbeck at your sentencing when you were a juvenile.”

“Oh, he was.” He surveyed them from behind narrowframed dark glasses. “But back then he was every bit as enraged at me for my actions, I can assure you. Rightfully so,” he hastened to add. “I was a punk. Didn’t appreciate anything, pissed off in general, and thought I was a whole lot tougher than I was.” The wry smile he gave them was tinged with embarrassment. “Quite frankly, I was under the impression that I was untouchable because of my lineage. And Grandfather was equally incensed to discover that wasn’t true.”

“When Judge Reinbeck sentenced you to juvie.”

“The state school for boys.” The smile turned to a wince. “Sixteen months of hell, I’ll tell you. The lessons I learned there I’ve carried with me for a lifetime. But if I hadn’t ended up there, I’d be in prison now. The road I was on, the rate I was going . . . I wouldn’t have stopped. Giving me another chance at that point would have been like handing me a length of rope and watching me tie my own noose with it.”

“So you’re grateful to the judge for ignoring your grandfather’s position and sending you away.”

“Gratitude?” That surprised a laugh from him. “I’d say that’s a reach. Especially given how much time I spent hating the guy for my stay there. I could have learned my lesson in half the time he gave me and still be living on the straight and narrow today. But . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “Truth is, that sentence saved me. Allowed me the life I’m living now. I was sincerely sorry to hear about the judge’s death. I don’t necessarily share my grandfather’s worldviews or political beliefs.”

“But you still volunteer on his campaign.”

“I pitch in when asked.” Humor lit his face. “I learned the value of family somewhere along the way. And what it takes to keep the peace. Whatever our differences, Grandfather has always been there for me. We might differ on methods, but family still counts, you know?”

The words resonated. Although in Jaid’s experience, family was fraught with the sort of emotional complications that took a lifetime to unsnarl. Her mother’s expectations of perfection had slowly driven her husband away. But when the marriage had broken up, he’d left Jaid behind, too.

She looked down to consult her notes. “Have you had occasion to meet Judge Reinbeck since your court appearance as a teenager?”

“Not personally, no.”

“You worked in Heath Carroll’s department for a time.”

Bailey glanced at his watch briefly before responding to Adam’s statement. “I interned in a number of departments in the company before getting my license. Heath’s was the most recent. He taught me a lot.”

“When you were in his department, did you ever have occasion to use the department cell phone?”

“Yes, of course.” His smile was wry. “More than half my work hours are spent on the phone, believe it or not.”

His responses to the rest of Jaid’s questions was similarly unenlightening. He hadn’t been at the fund-raiser where Carroll had met the judge. He’d never had occasion to contact Reinbeck or Patterson. He was aware of the firm’s relationship with Patterson Capital but hadn’t had reason to know the specifics of it. He was, he explained with charming self-deprecation, still practically a peon at the firm.

He looked at the clock again. “I’m really sorry, but if that’s all, I have another commitment in a few minutes.”

Because they were done, the three of them got up, headed to the door. “Working late?” Jaid inquired.

“No, we have a basketball league in the wellness center in the basement of the building. It’s game night. My team’s in the lead for the championship.” He gave them a wink. “Only because I’m not opposed to bringing in ringers to round out the positions on the team.”

Twenty minutes later, headed back across town to the Hoover Building, Jaid mused, “Bailey got his grandfather’s share of humility, I’d say.”

“He appears that way on the surface.” Shepherd pulled into one of the parking garages for agent use. “But let’s face it, despite his claims that he never contacted Patterson, he had access to that phone in Carroll’s department. He’d know where to find it, the contacts on it . . . He certainly can’t be discounted merely on his say so. And it occurs to me that his physical description matches the one Sorenson gave us of the man who helped her pick up her belongings when she dropped her purse.”

That thought had occurred to Jaid, too. “At least we can be fairly certain he won’t be complaining to his grandfather about our visit.” She glanced at her watch. She wouldn’t make it home for dinner, not with the drive she had in front of her, but she’d easily get there before Royce went to bed. “I’ll update the task force log tonight, Tom.”

He parked and turned to give her a wink. “I’m not going to argue with you. It happens that I have a date tonight.”

“What a coincidence.” It was the first time Adam had spoken on the way back from Dennison International. “So do I.”

Her head swiveled toward him with whiplash speed. It took a moment to discern the flicker of amusement on his face. Another for comprehension to filter in. She’d demanded an explanation from him just this morning about the events of last night. Anticipation hummed. She’d have remembered before allowing him to walk away this evening. Jaid was certain of that. Even if worry for her son had momentarily been her uppermost concern.

“Well, great then,” Shepherd was saying in a hearty voice as he gallantly opened the door for Jaid. “Do you good to get out tonight, too, Jaid. I always think I’m sharper after a few hours away from living the case.”

“Agent Marlowe has always seemed plenty sharp.” Adam’s voice was wry as he joined them outside the vehicle. “Too much so sometimes.”

But the other agent was already striding away, obviously in a hurry. “See you both tomorrow at the usual time.”

She said nothing until Shepherd was well out of earshot. Then she stopped. Looked at Adam pointedly. “About that
date . . .”

“What, here? I don’t think so.” He continued toward the elevator of the garage. “You’ll want to get home, I imagine, but Mojy’s isn’t out of the way. This shouldn’t take long, at any rate.”

She remained rooted in place. Mojy’s had been a favorite of theirs once upon a time. A quaint bar tucked in a historically significant hotel, it was just a couple blocks from the Hoover Building. Many an hour had been spent poring over every angle of a case there with Adam.

Even more had been spent in one of the rooms upstairs where he had once kept a suite.

Memories swamped her. They’d confer on the case they were working. And later, when their relationship had turned intimate, the night would end with the two of them in bed. Communicating physically in a way that they’d never managed to verbally.

He paused. Turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Coming?”

It took effort to get her feet to move. To shake off the gossamer web of recollections that had surely been gilded by the passing years. At any rate his expressionless face was enough to shoot steel up her spine.

If his memory were following the same path as hers, it certainly didn’t show.

“Fine.” On wooden legs she managed to join him in the elevator. As the doors closed, she looked at him. “I want to get home before Royce goes to bed. So talk fast. I have a feeling this is going to be one hell of a story.”

“His name is Mose Ferrell.” Adam finished the saga of the last few nights’ events as the waitress set down Jaid’s diet soda. Taking the bill he’d laid on the table, the waitress sent him a slow smile and strolled away. He reached for his glass of water. Drank. “He’s a two-bit hood. Has a rap sheet that includes a recent release after serving a seven-year stretch for assault with intent in commission of a burglary. Last night he claimed he didn’t know who had hired him, but today he admits that he was told to call the man LeCroix.”

“LeCroix?” She paled. Clenched the glass a bit more tightly. “He’s dead.”

“He is that.” And the knowledge never failed to fill Adam with fierce satisfaction. The man who had cost twentyseven boys their innocence and then their lives, the man who had cost Adam his eye and nearly his leg had been killed by his hand eight years ago. But not before LeCroix had left his own mark on Adam. “The name isn’t common enough to be a coincidence. And, of course, with the efforts he took to disguise his voice, why give his real name?”

“It would only have significance to you.” She frowned. “So whoever is behind these attempts on your life . . . he’s wrapped up in your last case for the bureau, is that it?”

“Possibly.” He eyed the ice in his glass broodingly. “Or it could just be a name chosen because my enemy imagines himself to be the one to kill me once and for all. As LeCroix came close to once.”

“And failed.” That information could be gleaned from the numerous articles that had followed Adam’s escape. The country had feverishly followed the story of Adam’s heroism and tragedy wrapped up in the downfall of John LeCroix, one of the most infamous pedophiles on record.

There’d been a movie loosely based on the facts of the case, she remembered. Jaid had never been able to bring herself to watch it but heard it had been more based on Hollywood glitz then rooted in reality.

Kale Bolton would be looking for the facts to go with the drama.

He had two other books to his credit, both a result of some intensive investigative journalism he’d done. She imagined that meant he needed sources close to Adam to give him information, since Adam obviously wasn’t a willing subject.

She raised her gaze to his. “This means the agency was wrong about Jennings. They thought he worked alone when he tried to kill you to avenge his ex-girlfriend’s father who you put away.”

He picked up the glass. Saluted her with it. “Which I always had a hard time believing actually. Then the attempts stopped, which seemed to lend the claim some credence. But now Paulie has traced payments to Jennings from the same account a ransom drop was made to last winter.” She listened, captivated, to his brief encapsulation of the Mulder kidnapping case he’d worked then. “The attempts began about six weeks after we’d returned the girl safely and rerouted seven-tenths of the ransom that was originally wired.”

“The timing of the new attempts is suspect.”
Suspect
. A dispassionate word for a topic that left her feeling anything but emotionless. He could have been killed. Last night and again a few evenings before. In the last few months, he’d survived in spite of overwhelming odds. A lesser man, one with fewer resources and lacking Adam’s innate cunning, wouldn’t be sitting in front of her right now.

She toyed with the straw in her drink and tried not to consider how many times one man could conceivably escape certain death. “I wonder if your involvement in a very high-profile case offers your enemy newfound access to you. Or if he regards it as an insult, proof you’re going about your life after he’s failed to stop you.”