Page 63 of Justice Denied

The timing of Jetta’s breakup suggested someone else might be the father of her child, but something about her haunted eyes made him question whether Kyle had left her alone. Jetta’s fragility made him want to slay whatever dragons she battled, much as his younger self had attempted with his mother. Which brought him to the real reason he couldn’t fall asleep.

Did he care for Jetta only because he sensed she needed protecting? Could he be mistaking love for his own need to keep a woman he cared for safe? Those questions tumbled around his brain like clothes in a dryer.

To distract himself, he picked up his phone and began scrolling through social media. Then he migrated over to his email to find Leslie Updike, his FinCEN contact, had sent him a message at 11:13, two hours ago.

Seth,

I checked with the guy who originally looked into the embezzlement allegations before Ainsley’s death, and he said he’d recommended not arresting Ainsley because the evidence was circumstantial at best and “rather flimsy.” He said the only thing tying Ainsley directly to the missing funds was a bank account in Ainsley’s name in the Cayman Islands, which had been opened a few months before the investigation commenced. So not long enough for Ainsley to have siphoned off the millions of dollars Topher Robotics claimed he had taken.

Also, his notes indicated the agent had called the bank and asked to see the documents Ainsley supposedly sent to open the account, but the bank had no records of which documents had been used, which is against standard procedure at that branch. I verified this with the bank directly as well. Since you’d sent me Dolores Green’s name, I asked about her account too. Same thing—no notation of which documents had been submitted to verify her identity.

Seth paused in reading to draw his own conclusion from what Leslie found out—that anyone could have opened the two accounts and made those electronic deposits. Then he continued reading her email.

The other interesting thing is that Topher Robotics laid claim on the funds in those two accounts and the bank wired the money back to Topher after the company presented documents showing Ainsley and Green had illegally taken the money. I asked to see the documents in question, only to be told the paper copies had been shredded and the online notes only said “documents.”

This whole thing smells of yesterday’s catch. And before you ask, I think bribes were paid to the Cayman Islands bank to obscure the accounts and their activity, but after all these years, there’s too little of a paper trail to prove it.

You owe me more than a coffee for this!

Leslie

Seth sent a quick thank you to her, then forwarded the email to Jetta with a short message:

Not great news but I don’t think we should be too discouraged. Talk soon. Seth

His phone buzzed in his hands. Brogan’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hey, Brogan.” Seth glanced at his watch to note the time. One-fifteen. Late for even his colleague to call unless there was breaking news that needed a photographer. “Another fire?”

“No. Do you know where Jetta is?”

Seth frowned. “At her house asleep, I hope. Why?”

“I just got an anonymous call on my office line from a burner phone.”

Fallon had insisted his reporters forward their office landlines to ring to their personal phones after hours in order to not miss any scoops.

“The caller, who took care to disguise their voice so I haven’t a clue about gender, said Emily Ainsley could be found at Tibbit’s Hill Cemetery.” Brogan coughed, then continued. “It’s in Sterling, out Route 28 past Dulles Airport.”

Seth couldn’t believe it. It sounded too fantastical to be true. “Did the caller say how they knew this info?”

“No, they simply repeated Tibbit’s Hill Cemetery and hung up. I tried calling back, but it rolled to an automated message saying the caller hadn’t set up the mailbox, so I couldn’t leave a message.” Brogan paused, saying something under his breath about late-night drivers. “I’m nearly to your house.”

Seth was already slipping into jeans. “I’ll meet you at the end of the driveway.”

Brogan disconnected without bothering to reply.

As he shoved his bare feet into a pair of sneakers, Seth contemplated texting Jetta with the news. But if it did prove to be a wild good chase, it would be best not to worry her. Too much anxiety couldn’t be good for the baby, and Jetta was already carrying around more than enough.

Soon Seth slid into the passenger seat of Brogan’s SUV and clicked his seatbelt into place. “Have you called the police?”

“I thought you might have the contact number to make things easier. I’d really rather not have to get a dispatcher to understand the urgency without knowing the background.”

“Good idea.” Seth checked the notes app on his phone for the contact info of Detective Oldfield, then punched in the number.

The detective answered after five rings, his voice sleepy. Seth hated waking the man up, but he was certain the detective wouldn’t mind once he heard what Seth had to share.

“My name is Seth Whitman. We met yesterday morning at the shooting in south Arlington. You might have heard Jetta’s mother, Emily Ainsley, had been kidnapped from her rehab facility around the same time as the shooting.”

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