Page 10 of The House of Cross

Bree felt she had to give the woman something, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “Insurance company.”

“Makes sense,” the deputy said. “Good to know. Have a nice day, Ms. Stone.”

“You too, Deputy Rogers.”

They hung up. Bree went over her notes of the conversation, beginning to end, and kept coming back to the ranch owners.

O Casado. A Brazilian beef conglomerate.

She couldn’t shake the sense that there was something important there, and then she saw it. With her pen, she circled the wordsBrazilian beefand added three exclamation points.

CHAPTER 7

A RAW WIND WASblowing when Ned Mahoney and I reached the George Washington University Law School at Twentieth and H Streets in Northwest DC.

A security guard told us we would find Professor Willa Whelan’s office on the third floor, rear of the building. When we reached her door, we saw a sign readingWRITING! DONOT DISTURB!

I knocked anyway. Inside, we heard her shout, “Are you illiterate or an imbecile?”

“Just the FBI, Professor Whelan,” Mahoney said, causing a passing group of students to turn their heads.

We heard a chair push back and the door opened a crack, revealing a thin woman with short blond hair and a suspicious look on her face. She was in her forties and wearing a running outfit that looked a whole lot like the killer’s.

“Credentials?” Professor Whelan said.

Mahoney showed her his FBI ID and badge. I showed her my identification as a consultant to the Bureau.

“How does that work?” she asked, opening the door a little wider. We saw a cluttered office with stacks of books and files everywhere. “Consultant to the Bureau?”

“It works well, actually,” Mahoney said. “Dr. Cross used to be with us full-time in the Behavioral Science Unit.”

“A profiler?” she asked, sounding impressed.

“Among other things,” I replied. “Can we come in?”

“For?”

“We’d like to talk about the late Emma Franklin.”

The law professor’s face lost color. “Yes, I heard this morning. It’s … unthinkable that she’s gone. Emma was a rare talent.”

We stood there in silence until she opened the door all the way. “One of you will have to stand,” she said. “This is where I write and there’s not much room.”

“Standing is fine,” I said and stepped inside.

Professor Whelan went around the back of her desk, jiggled the mouse on her computer, and closed a text file she was working on. Mahoney took the overstuffed chair. I stood with my back to a wall of law books.

“How can I help, Mr. Mahoney?” she said finally, turning to face Ned.

“We heard you had a long-standing beef with Judge Franklin, possibly going back to your Harvard days,” Mahoney said.

Whelan laughed caustically. “And, what, you think because Emma and I never got along, I was involved in her death? C’mon.”

I said, “Out of curiosity, what was the problem between you two?”

The professor squirmed a little.

“The truth will set you free,” Mahoney said.

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