Page 55 of 4th Silence
“That she did this or that she’s the killer? Neither, but I’m going to get it.”
“I’m here if you need me.” The sincerity in his voice is unmistakable. “Just say the word. But get this wrapped up. Fast. Please.”
A flicker of doubt tries to take root. I snuff it out. After thanking him again, I end the call and gather a few tools of the trade and slip them into my coat pockets. A voice recorder. Pepper spray. A pen that’s not just a pen.
Time to blow up a few things. “Mom,” I call, walking briskly to the conference room.
My mother’s head appears over her computer monitor, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Are you okay?”
The question takes me off guard. Sometimes, she’s still my mother, rather than an investigative journalist. Matt and Meg are at the table with her. They both seem to wait on the edge of a dime for my reply.
“Absolutely.” I point at Mom. “I want everything you can find on Mary. Not the public profile stuff. I want financial records, connections to local businesses, and her ties to media outlets, especially those where she makes donations or has even the slightest whiff of financial interest. Anything she touches. I want to know where her fingerprints end, and someone else’s begin. Matt, I want to know who she socializes with at the D.C. Police Department.”
Mom’s eyebrows shoot up, but she’s already reaching for her notepad. “Give me a few hours,” she says, waving me off. “I’ll find what Mary doesn’t want found. And I’ll sharpen my teeth doing it.”
My mother, the shark.
Matt’s fingers fly over his keyboard. “On it, boss.”
“Come on, Meg.” I wave her to follow me. “We’re going to grab lunch for everyone.”
Meg frowns, her expression quizzical until she catches the nearly imperceptible jerk of my head. I know she gets it when the confusion in her eyes fades to clarity. “Right. Lunch. I’m starving.”
“I could use a steak burrito from Juan’s,” Matt says without tearing his focus away from his screen. “If you’re in that neighborhood.”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Back in my day, we worked through lunch to get ahead of a story.”
I slip on my coat with deliberate casualness. “We need fuel to fight battles. Besides, I can’t think straight with my stomach growling.”
Her eyes narrow. Years of journalistic instinct raise her suspicions, but she only nods. She’s suspicious, but not enough to stop me. Yet. “Bring me back a sandwich—turkey on rye, no mayo.”
“Will do,” I say, already heading for the door.
Meg follows, matching my brisk pace. Neither of us speaks until we’re safely in my car.
“We’re not getting lunch, are we?” she asks.
A few reporters rush from their warm vehicles, waving microphones our way. I start the engine and honk for them to move as I pull out. “We might grab something on the way back. Right now, we’re paying a visit to the Hartman estate.”
“I knew it.” Meg claps. “Mom will kill us if she finds out.”
“Which is precisely why she doesn’t need to know.”
It takes a bit of finagling to get to the road, and we pick up several tails. Pesky reporters. “Seat belt,” I remind Meg.
She shifts and buckles up as I begin some offensive moves learned while at the Bureau. Left, right, U-turn. If I had gone to the dark side, I could have driven getaway cars.
Once I’m sure I’ve lost the reporters, I mentally run through my action plan.
Meg interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t you think Mary will refuse to see us?”
“I think she’ll want to gloat about the damage she’s caused.” I check the GPS as it announces a traffic jam ahead and recalculates our route. “If she does, I’m going to get her on record.” I pat my coat pocket where a listening device is ready to record anything the woman says. “Either way, showing up unannounced sends a message—I’m not backing down because of some tabloid shit piece.”
“What did JJ say?”
“He offered his support.”
Her eyes widen. “Finally. Now I don’t have to kill him. And your old boss? Was he pissed?”
