The Murder That Never Was: A Forensic Instincts Novel (17 page)

Hutch eyed the group as Casey walked away, cell phone in hand. “And what was the tip that this anonymous caller provided?” he asked. While he might not know the details of the case, he did know FI.

Marc shrugged. “Something about a home office full of slashed photos of Mr. Worster. And an unregistered gun, which was apparently just sitting out on our suspect’s desk.”

“And who would have the access needed to supply this timely anonymous tip?”

“The ‘who’ is a mystery. That’s why they call it anonymous,” Marc replied dryly. “My money is on the maid. She works there six days a week.”

“The maid.”

“Yup.”

“Right. And the convenient timing of this incriminating and oh-so-visible evidence that elicited the anonymous tip—do I want to know your ideas on how it got there?”

Marc took a deep swallow of Chianti. “Nope.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think so.” He was no stranger to the unorthodox methods of this amazing team. Still, he was a federal agent. He couldn’t know about illegal activities, no matter how altruistic. So the Forensic Instincts team did their best not to put him in any untenable positions, and Hutch did his best to not ask questions he didn’t want the answers to.

Although they all knew he’d walked the finest of lines in the past, especially when it came to Casey’s safety.

“This is excellent news,” Ryan declared. With great enthusiasm, he refilled his glass. “Now we’ll be able to put all our resources into our new case.” He glanced from Adele to Hutch. “Sorry, I can’t talk about it, because it’s ongoing. But it’s a really interesting one.”

Hutch pursed his lips, glancing into the kitchen in time to see Casey punch off her phone.

“Well, since we can’t talk about your new case, and since we’ve worked up a sweat from unpacking and pretty much polished off every speck of food on this table, not to mention an extra bottle of wine courtesy of Claire and Ryan, I’m thinking we should call it a night.” He rose. “I can’t thank you enough for the welcome, the food, and the help.”

“Aren’t you subtle?” Ryan muttered. “I just poured myself another glass of Chianti. Can I at least drink that?”

“Take it on the road,” Claire said. “Let’s let Casey and Hutch have some privacy.”

Everyone hastily stood up, tossing their plates and utensils into a giant trash bag and gathering up their things.

“We really thank you guys,” Casey said, returning to the living room. “Sorry for Hutch’s bluntness. I think he’s exhausted from the long drive and the whole settling in thing.”

“Tired, my ass,” Ryan commented wryly. “He looks like a hungry wolf about to pounce on you and—”

“Good night, Ryan,” Casey interrupted him. “You know the way out.” She glanced over her shoulder at Hero, who was snoring in his favorite spot. “Hero can spend the night here, since that’s where I’ll be.” She yawned—a yawn that was about as convincing as a criminal’s not guilty plea. “I guess I’m pretty beat, too.”

Adele began to laugh. “Shoo, everyone. Casey and Hutch want to share some intimacy.” Her eyes twinkled as they met Casey’s. “I may be sixty, but sixty is the new thirty. I know when it’s time to let a couple have their space.”

With that, she scooted everyone out the door, then slipped her arm through Patrick’s and followed suit. She turned to give Casey a quick wink.

Casey grinned. “See you all tomorrow, and thanks again,” she called after them.

Having locked the door, she turned to find Hutch shrugging off his shirt. “Payoff time, Ms. Woods,” he said in a low, sexy tone. “You’ve got thirty seconds to get into that bed. It’s ready and waiting—I made it myself.”

With a soft laugh, Casey scooted past him into the bedroom, pulling her sweater over her head and tossing it out into the hall. “Make that twenty seconds, Agent Hutchinson.”

Tribeca, NYC

Office of Forensic Instincts

Patrick led the way around the back of the brownstone, gesturing for Lisa, Milo, and Shannon to follow him up to the second-story terrace. Once there, he punched the security code into the Hirsch pad and opened the double doors, waiting until everyone was in before shutting the doors behind them and reentering the code.

Casey walked out of the main conference room. “Did everything go as planned?” she asked Patrick, smiling a hello at the trio of clients.

“Like clockwork,” he replied. “These three left Upper Montclair for a shopping spree in the city. They walked up and down Fifth Avenue, buying a few things to make Shannon feel less afraid and more at home.” He grinned, pointing to the giant stuffed koala bear in Shannon’s arms. “They were very convincing. From there, they headed to Times Square for a movie matinee.”

“Which they never saw,” Casey supplied.

“Right. I met them in the alley and drove them here. I parked around the corner, and, as you saw, we came up the back way. No one followed us. We’re secure.”

“I never doubted it.” Casey gave Patrick a thank-you nod, then gazed past him and the koala to the nervous, wide-eyed teenager holding it. “Hi, Shannon. I’m Casey Woods.”

“Hi,” Shannon said in a small voice.

“Come in and meet everyone.” Casey walked over and squeezed her arm. “We’re here to help you. Don’t be nervous.” She took the koala from Shannon’s arms and placed it on a nearby table. “I think your new friend will be better off out here. Our bloodhound, Hero, has a tendency to think every toy belongs to him. And I doubt you want to bring home a tattered, slobbered-on stuffed animal.”

Shannon’s tension eased a bit. “Your dog is in there?” She pointed at the conference room.

“Yes. Not to worry, he’s extremely friendly and obedient.”

“I love dogs,” Shannon said.

“And Hero loves attention,” Casey told her. “So if you want to sit in a beanbag chair and pet him while we talk, he’ll be your friend for life.”

“I’d like that.”

“One beanbag chair coming up.” Patrick headed upstairs to Claire’s yoga room—the ideal place to find a more comfortable alternative to a conference room chair.

Casey escorted their three visitors into the main conference room. She could feel Shannon stiffen up again, and she couldn’t blame her. The room would be overwhelming to a sixteen-year-old. All rich wood and high-tech equipment, the room’s focal point was a huge oval table surrounded by a dozen presidential-looking chairs—chairs that were now occupied by the entire FI team.

Hero, lying on the floor beside Casey’s chair, lifted his head and gazed intently at Shannon, waiting for his cue.

“A friend, Hero. Stay.” Casey gave him a hand signal.

Instantly, the tension left his body, and he put his head back down, still watching them with a keen expression on his face.

Simultaneously, Yoda announced: “Three visitors have arrived. As per my programming, they are Miles Parker, Lisa Barnes, and Shannon Barker.”

Shannon nearly jumped out of her skin.

“That’s just FI’s virtual assistant, Yoda,” Milo explained to her. “Ryan created him. He’s mind-blowing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Parker,” Yoda replied politely.

“Sure.” Milo looked around. “Wow, this room is a lot different than the one we met in yesterday.”

“This is our main conference room,” Casey replied. “It seems intimidating, but it’ll grow on you.” She ran her hand over the mahogany credenza, where refreshments were laid out. “I love this place. It’s my work sanctuary.”

“Well, naturally you love it. You designed it.” Ryan’s response was pure Ryan. He wasn’t being flippant; he was just stating a fact. Casey usually let it go. So did the team, although occasionally one of them shot Ryan a withering look—usually eliciting a clueless expression in response. He was cutting-edge brilliant when it came to technology and naïvely oblivious when it came to emotional awareness.

“That is Ryan McKay,” Casey introduced him to Shannon.

“He’s the genius who found us and made sure we came here.” Milo was already quite the Ryan fan.

“Hey, Shannon.” Ryan’s easy grin was infectious.

“Hi.” Shannon was not only female but she was a teenager—the perfect age for crushes. She stared at Ryan—his chiseled features, his well-honed muscles, his rumpled black hair and dark blue eyes—and she was head over heels.

She blushed, dropping her gaze.

Quickly, Casey came to her aid, introducing all the other team members and sighing with relief when Patrick came back with the beanbag chair. He plunked it on the floor next to Hero.

“You’re getting some company, boy,” he informed the bloodhound, who raised his head again, this time in interest. His tail began thudding against the floor when he saw Casey bring Shannon over, hopeful awareness dawning in his soulful eyes. His tail-thudding motion sped up when Shannon lowered herself to the chair, and hope was confirmed: she was there to play with him.

After one stroke of his ears, Hero rolled over to have Shannon scratch his belly.

“From human scent evidence dog to lap dog,” Marc said dryly. “Rough adaptation, Hero.”

The bloodhound responded by snorting loudly in contentment.

Shannon gave a small smile, distracted, at least for the time being. “He’s beautiful,” she said.

In one fluid motion, Claire came to her feet. She’d already been seated at the table when Casey came in, and Casey had been totally focused on the upcoming client interview. So for the first time, she noticed that Claire was dressed in Lycra capris, a tank top, and a hoodie—her yoga clothes—rather than the business casual she wore to work.

“I’m a yoga fanatic, Shannon,” Claire said, before Casey had time to process things. “That beanbag chair came from my workout room. Would you mind if I grabbed another one and joined you on the floor? I work better when I’m comfortable.” She gave Shannon one of her warm, enveloping smiles.

“That would be cool,” Shannon admitted. “I feel kind of lame being the only one down here—except for Hero, of course.” She stroked Hero’s glossy head.

“Great. I’ll go grab one and be back in a sec.” Claire didn’t make eye contact with anyone else. She just walked out of the room, all grace and serenity.

And visionary instinct.

Smart, Claire, very smart
, Casey thought as she gestured for Lisa and Milo to join everyone at the conference table, which they did.
The more at ease Shannon is, and the more flashes of insight you can pick up from being beside her, the better.

Casey lowered herself into her chair, positioned just a few feet above Shannon and Hero. She took an extra minute to settle herself, giving Claire more time to return.

“Can we get the three of you anything?” Emma piped up, correctly interpreting the dynamics that were going on. “Coffee? Tea? Water? And we’ve got blueberry and corn muffins, too.”

“Water would be great,” Lisa said.

“Coming right up.” Emma walked over to the credenza and opened the built-in fridge, pulling out three bottles of water. “Here you go.” She handed one each to Lisa, Milo, and Shannon. “We’ll eat the muffins later.” She grinned. “At least I will.”

By that time, Claire had returned and planted a beanbag chair on the other side of Shannon and Hero. She flopped down into it, stroking a hand down Hero’s back. “I’m all set,” she said. “Sorry to hold things up.”

“No problem,” Casey assured her. Keeping her posture relaxed and comfortable, she looked down at Shannon, choosing her words carefully. “Shannon,” she began. “I know that Lisa and Miles explained to you that we’re here to protect the three of you. I hope you feel you can trust us.”

“I’ll try.” Shannon swallowed. “I have nowhere else to turn now that Julie’s dead.”

Casey nodded her understanding. “I can’t even imagine what a shock it was for you to find out that Julie is…gone. What we don’t know is why. We’re going to need you to fill in whatever blanks you can.”

Shannon looked up, her eyes bleak. “It has something to do with the PEDs Jim Robbins was giving me.” A pause. “He’s dead, isn’t he? They killed him?”

“I don’t know,” Casey replied honestly. “He may have been harmed. Or he may have taken off by himself, out of fear. Either way, we can’t wait around for him to turn up with answers. We have to act right away—find out who they are.” She waited while Shannon took a nervous gulp of water.

“After your injury and your realization that Jim’s ‘supplements’ were really PEDs, did you tell anyone other than Julie?”

Shannon shook her head. “Julie told me not to. She wanted me to stay out of it, just to go home, see a therapist, and let her do the digging.” Tears clogged Shannon’s throat, and the pain in her voice was heartbreaking. “She was protecting me. And it got her killed.”

“It’s not your fault, Shannon.” Claire put a soothing hand on Shannon’s arm. “You had no way of knowing this went any deeper than drug distribution, or any further than Jim Robbins and the PEDs he was giving you.”

Shannon shoved a strand of hair behind her ear. “Julie must have found something out. But I don’t know what.” Shannon paused. “I know that Jim worked for someone else—someone bigger. He pretty much admitted that to me when I confronted him in the Apex parking lot. And whoever those someones are, they not only deal drugs but kill people.”

“You’re not going to be next, Shannon.” Casey’s voice was firm. “Neither is Lisa or Miles. We’re going to make sure of that.”

“My guess is that Julie somehow got into Jim Robbins’ office at Apex,” Marc said. “Whatever she found was there. Maybe documents, maybe something on his computer, maybe something else. But that material implicated not only him but higher-ups. And they had to get it before someone could use it against them.”

“Then why didn’t they come after Julie? Or Lisa, if they knew they killed the wrong woman?” Shannon asked.

“Because the papers never reached her.” Patrick was thoughtful. “They’re definitely keeping an eye on her—and on Miles. But to kill Lisa randomly, when the Chicago police believe she’s Julie, would be too much of a coincidence to ignore. It would raise eyebrows and cause the cops to more thoroughly investigate the two murders. That’s a big risk for criminals who want to fly under the radar.”

“Jim was giving those PEDs to more athletes than just Shannon,” Claire murmured. “I’m getting flashes of two others. They weren’t at Shannon’s level but close.” Brows drawn in question, she looked at Shannon. “Do you have any idea who those two gymnasts were?”

Shannon’s jaw dropped. “You really are a psychic, aren’t you?”

Claire didn’t bother plunging into a whole explanation of her gift. She merely waited for Shannon’s response.

“Billy Carver and Jessica Majors,” Shannon supplied. “They’re both awesome. Jim called us the Thriving Three. Billy can’t qualify for another year; he’s only fifteen. And Jessica is working on perfecting her timing.”

Casey was taking all this in. “Are you friendly enough with them to give them a call without arousing suspicion?”

“Sure.” Shannon turned her palms up in puzzlement. “Why? What do you want me to ask them?”

“How they’re doing at practice since Jim took off. It’s very important that you don’t use words like
disappeared
or
vanished
. Keep it casual. I just want to figure out how the drug withdrawal is affecting them.”

“It’s affected me a lot.” Shannon looked sad. “And not only my heart, or even the arthroscopic surgery I had to fix my rotator cuff, but my energy, my endurance, even just taking a walk. I’m so tired. Plus, I have all these daily medications I have to take now.”

Claire placed her hand on Shannon’s arm again. “Tell that to them. Gush over the wonderful health supplements Jim was giving you, and how much you miss them. Then, ask how many supplements Jim had been recommending they take per day.”

“I was taking four—two in the morning and two at night.” Shannon was looking nervous again. “Why do you want to know that?”

Claire was gentle but honest. “Because I think Jim was giving you more than the others. Probably because you were closest to bringing him the Olympic gold. If so, that would explain a lot, including your weakened rotator cuff, your accident, and your resulting cardiomyopathy.”

“Oh my God.” Shannon blanched. “Is that why I got hurt when no one else did?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Shannon,” Ryan interrupted. “Do you have Jim Robbins’ cell phone number?” He was itching for the right answer. This would be a crucial, first solid lead on Robbins. The background checks that both he and Miles had run had come up empty. On paper, the guy read like a Boy Scout. And his emails, which Ryan had hacked into, were boring and ordinary—completely devoid of incriminating information.

To Ryan’s relief, Shannon nodded. “It’s programmed into my cell phone.”

Ryan grabbed a pad. “Give it to me.” He was clearly urgent. “Given the sophistication of this organization, my guess is it’s going to turn out to be a burner phone, which would keep his calls anonymous—except from me.”

Turning to face Casey, Ryan said, “The phone company won’t have records. I’ve got to find out Robbins’ service provider and find a way into their system. That could take a while.” Ryan purposely avoided the word
hack
. No need for TMI, not with a teenager. “The provider won’t have a name—I’m sure Robbins paid by cash—but they will have records for that phone number. But I’ve got to act fast. They tend to delete records pretty quickly. I might have days, maybe a week if I’m lucky. And I want to know who Robbins called and who called him. That’s imperative to solving this case.”