The Match, page 18
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Even when the victim is ‘one of their own’?”
Oren nodded. “Fair enough. Look, Wilde, I want to know who did this to you. I want them to be punished.”
“That won’t happen,” Wilde said. “They blacked out their license plates. They put a bag over my head, so I never saw their faces. They did it on a quiet part of the street with no cameras. Even if I could figure out who they were, it would be my word against theirs. They knew what they were doing.” Wilde took a sip and stared at Oren over the glass. “And you know how cops stick together.”
“Damn. I’m really sorry.”
Wilde waited. He knew what was coming. He just needed to turn it in his favor.
“But you need to listen to me,” Oren said.
And here it comes, Wilde thought.
“A cop, a father of three, has been murdered. You have pertinent information. You just can’t hide from that. You have a responsibility to come forward.”
Wilde considered his next move. Then he asked, “Did the cops search McAndrews’s computer?”
“They’re working on it,” Oren replied. “It’s pretty sophisticated security and there’s a lot on it. What should they be looking for?”
“How about we share?”
“Share what?” Oren said.
“You tell me what the police know about McAndrews’s murder,” Wilde said. “Based on that, I tell you what I think you should do or look into.”
“Are you serious?”
“You have other options,” Wilde said. “For example, you could ask your colleagues to torture me again.”
Oren closed his eyes.
Wilde was furious, but at the end of the day, he wanted whoever killed Henry McAndrews caught. If Wilde had information that could help find the murderer, so be it. He wanted to find Peter Bennett, not protect him.
“I went to McAndrews’s house,” Wilde said, “because I was searching for someone.”
“Who?” Oren asked.
“Peter Bennett. He’s a missing reality star, assumed dead.”
Oren made a face. “Why are you looking for him?”
Wilde saw no reason not to answer. “I put my name in a DNA genealogy site. He came back as related to me.”
“Wait. As in…?”
“Yeah, I’m trying to figure out how I ended up in the woods. I know you’ve been pushing me for a long time to do it. So I did.”
“And?”
“And I found my dad. He lives outside of Las Vegas.”
“What?” Oren’s eyes widened. “What did he say?”
“It’s a long story, but it’s a dead end. So I tried again, this time with a relative on my biological mother’s side.”
“And this reality star—”
“Peter Bennett.”
“He’s related to your mother?”
“Yes. But after he contacted me, he went missing.”
“What do you mean, missing?”
“You can Google his name and get all the details,” Wilde said. “He’s famous. If he’s involved in this murder, I want him captured. There is no love or blood loyalty here. My only self-interest in locating him is to learn more about my birth mother.”
“So you’re searching for this Peter Bennett and somehow you end up on McAndrews?”
“Right.”
“And that’s why you broke into his house?”
“I thought it was empty.”
“So if that’s all true, why didn’t you just come forward? Why have Hester make the call?”
Wilde just looked at him. “You can’t be that dense.”
“I know your breaking into the house might look bad—”
“Might look bad. Come on, Oren. You know how it would look.”
Oren nodded, seeing it now. “I do. An eccentric loner—no offense, Wilde—”
Wilde gestured to indicate none was taken.
“—breaks into a cop’s house and that cop ends up dead.”
“I’d never get a fair shake.”
“You could have come to me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re the most trustworthy cop I know,” Wilde said, “and look at how you bent the rules when it came to finding a cop killer.”
Oren winced. “I guess I deserve that.”
Enough, Wilde thought. It was time to press ahead. “McAndrews was a cop, right?”
“Retired, yes.”
“Most cops still work after they retire. What did he do?”
“He was a private investigator.”
Just as Wilde had expected. “On his own or with a big firm?”
“What difference does it make?” Oren saw Wilde’s face and sighed. “On his own.”
“Did he specialize?”
“I don’t feel comfortable talking about that,” Oren said.
“And I still feel like vomiting from being shocked repeatedly with a cattle prod,” Wilde said. “I’m assuming from your answer that McAndrews’s work was on the sketchy side.”
Oren thought about it. “You think his work life had something to do with his murder?”
“I do, yes. What did he specialize in?”
“Most of McAndrews’s work would be charitably labeled ‘corporate security.’”
“And uncharitably?”
“Trashing the competition online.”
“Explain,” Wilde said.
“You and Hester had dinner tonight at Tony’s, right?”
“What does that—?”
“Let’s say your town has an established favorite pizzeria. You, Wilde, decide to open a competing one nearby. Problem is, people are loyal to Tony’s. So how do you cut into Tony’s customer base in the modern era?”
Wilde said, “I assume the answer is you trash the competition.”
“Exactly. You hire a guy like McAndrews. He creates fake accounts—bots—that post bad reviews of Tony’s. They flood certain websites with rumors about bad sanitation or spoiled food or rude service. Whatever. That would, of course, lower Tony’s ratings on Yelp and wherever else people check reviews. The bots might casually mention that a new pizzeria in town is much better—and then other fake accounts would join in and, ‘Yeah, that new place is awesome’ or ‘They have the best thin crust.’ Like I said, this example is small-time. But corporations are doing this on a large scale too.”
“Is this legal?” Wilde asked.
“No, but it’s nearly impossible to prosecute. Someone writes a fake bad review of you online. Do you know the odds of being able to track the real identity of the poster, especially with anonymity software and VPNs?”
“Zero,” Wilde said.
“And even if you’re somehow able to track down the identity behind one of the bots, so what? The person might say, ‘Oh, that’s how I really felt, but I was afraid if I put my real name, Tony would come after me.’”
Wilde considered that. “Did McAndrews do more than corporate work?”
“Meaning?”
“I assume some clients wanted to trash people rather than corporations.”
“Since the beginning of time,” Oren said. “Why do you ask?”
“When you look up Peter Bennett,” Wilde said, “you will see how many trolls swarmed his social media site, destroying his reputation, enflaming his former fans. Whenever the scandal would die down, these trolls would return and reignite them. A lot of the hate being leveled at Bennett was amplified by Henry McAndrews’s army of bots.”
“So someone was targeting this Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“And they hired McAndrews to do it?”
“Could be.”
“How did you figure out it was McAndrews?”
“That’s confidential. It won’t help to find his killer.”
“Sure, it will,” Oren countered. “Clearly McAndrews wasn’t as good at hiding his identity as he thought. You figured it out. Not to be obvious, but if you could track down McAndrews’s identity, so could Peter Bennett. And who’d have more reason to be angry at McAndrews than him?”
“Maybe,” Wilde allowed. “Look, Oren, I need the name of whoever hired McAndrews to trash Peter Bennett.”
“Assuming someone did hire McAndrews for that purpose—and that’s a somewhat big assumption—there may be an issue with getting you that information.”
“What’s the issue?” Wilde asked.
“One of McAndrews’s sons is an attorney. For an extra layer of security, McAndrews claimed all that he did was legal work product, so it would fall under attorney-client privilege. The clients didn’t pay him directly—they got billed by his son’s law firm.” Oren looked at him hard. “You see, some people take advantage of the rules surrounding attorney-client. Some people will twist the spirit of that clause in a way some may find unethical.”
“One of us is the bad guy here, Oren. And it’s not me.”
That landed. The two men stayed there for a moment, not moving.
“Did anyone report Peter Bennett missing to the police?” Oren asked.
“His sister may have, but I don’t think anyone looked into it. At the end of the day, he’s an adult who took off. There was no hint of foul play.”
“Until now,” Oren said. Then: “Thank you, Wilde. I appreciate your cooperation. I’ll look into all this. And I’ll help you as much as I can. We both want to find Peter Bennett.”
Oren’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID.
“Shit. It’s Hester.”
Wilde rose. There was more to say to Oren, about how Oren had let Wilde down, how Wilde had considered Oren one of the few people in this world he could trust, how that trust was now shattered for good. But now was not the time. He headed for the door.
“You better answer it.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Wilde grabbed another burner from one of his lockboxes and called Laila.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“If you hadn’t managed to call me—”
“I’d be fine,” Wilde said. “They just wanted to scare me.”
“Please don’t do that, Wilde.”
“Do what?”
“I heard them tackle you and then, poof, the phone went dead. Don’t insult me with platitudes.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you for calling Hester.”
“Of course.”
Wilde said, “I know you wanted to have a talk tonight…”
“Are you serious? Not after what happened. I’m still shaking.”
“If it’s all the same, I think I’ll just go to the capsule and get some sleep.”
“No, Wilde.”
“No?”
“We won’t talk,” Laila said. “We won’t fuck either. But I need you here. I need to hold you tonight or I won’t be able to sleep, okay?”
Wilde nodded, even though he knew no one was watching. He just needed that second. “I’m on my way, Laila.”
* * *
Early the next morning, Wilde stood on Amsterdam Avenue between 72nd and 73rd Street, watching Marnie Cassidy, Jenn’s sister, the one who’d leveled the most serious allegations against Peter Bennett on the Reality Ralph podcast, sitting in the window booth at the Utopia Diner across the street. She was having breakfast with what Wilde assumed was a friend. Marnie was animated and smiley and gestured maniacally.
Rola said, “Marnie looks annoying as hell.”
Wilde nodded.
“She looks like she thinks she’s just so much fun and crazy and yells ‘woo woo’ on the dance floor.”
Wilde nodded again.
“She looks like a buddy’s irritating girlfriend who insists on joining the boys at the sports bar and she dresses in full football gear and puts on eye black and spends the entire game cheering too loudly until you want to punch her in the face.”
Wilde turned and looked at Rola. Rola shrugged. “That kind pisses me off.”
“I guess.”
“Look at her,” Rola said. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Wilde, I want to find those Hartford cops and make them pay.”
“Let it go,” he said.
Marnie and her friend stood up and walked to the register to pay their bill.
“You sure you want to handle this on your own?” Rola asked.
“Yes.”
“We’ll meet in Central Park afterward?”
“Yes.”
Rola kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She headed down the block as Marnie stepped out onto the street. Marnie gave her breakfast companion a big hug and kiss and started on her way toward, Wilde knew from Rola’s intel, the ABC studios on Columbus between 66th and 67th. Wilde had planned his route. He wanted to catch Marnie before the studios were in sight. He headed around the block, hurrying his step. When Marnie turned onto 67th Street, Wilde was heading toward her in the opposite direction.
He stopped short.
“Excuse me,” Wilde said, throwing on his biggest smile and flaring his eyes, “but aren’t you Marnie Cassidy?”
Marnie Cassidy could not have looked more pleased if he had handed her a giant check. “Why yes, I am!”
“Oh man, I’m so sorry to bother you. People must pester you on the street all the time.”
“Oh,” Marnie said, waving it away, “that’s okay.”
“It’s just that I’m a huge fan.”
“Really?”
When it came to stroking a celebrity ego, there was no such thing as too much or too heavy a pet. “My sister and I watch you all the time on…” The name of the show slipped Wilde’s mind, so he just kept going. “Anyway, we both think you’re hilarious.”
“That’s so kind of you!”
“Would I be able to trouble you for an autograph and maybe a selfie? Jane—that’s my sister—Jane will freak when she sees it.”
Jane. So okay, Wilde wasn’t great at coming up with names under pressure.
Marnie beamed. “Of course! How would you like it made out?”
“Oh, let’s do it, ‘To Jane, my biggest fan,’ something like that. She’s going to positively freak out!” Wilde fumbled as though searching for a writing instrument. “Oh, shoot. I don’t think I have a pen.”
“No worries!” Marnie said. Every sentence with Marnie seemed to end in an exclamation mark. “I have one!”
Now that Marnie had come to a full stop and started rummaging through her purse, Wilde shifted his body so that he faced her head-on and subtly blocked her path forward. He wouldn’t stop her if she wanted to get by. It was all about body language.
“Can I ask you one other thing?” Wilde asked.
“Of course!”
“Why did you lie about Peter Bennett?”
Boom. Just like that.
The smile stayed locked on Marnie’s lips, but it fled her eyes and dimmed that inner beam. He didn’t wait, didn’t give her time to recover from the blow or take an eight count. He pressed on.
“I work for CRAW Securities. We know everything, Marnie. You have a choice. You can talk to me now and keep yourself out of it—or we can destroy you in every way possible. The choice is yours.”
Marnie kept blinking. This was the calculated risk Wilde had decided to take. If he approached her in any reasonable manner, Marnie Cassidy would stick to the story she had told on the Reality Ralph podcast. The only way that talking to Marnie could be useful was if he threw her off her game and she changed her story in some way. Then Wilde might have something to work with. There was no downside to this direct approach. If he interviewed her in a straightforward manner, he would gain nothing. If she stormed off now, he also would gain nothing—same boat.
But if she reacted now in some way that hinted at deception, then he had a chance at learning something.
Marnie tried to stand up a little straighter. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Wilde said with no hint of give in his tone. “Let me put this plainly. We are talking alone. No one is listening. It’s just you and me. This is my promise. If you tell me the truth now, it goes no further. No one will ever know you said a word to me. It’s a secret just between us. You continue on your way to hair and makeup at the studio, and you remain a star. And I wasn’t kidding before. I have seen you, Marnie. You’ve got talent. You’ve got that intangible it. People love you. Your star is rising. I’d put money on that. And if you help me now, your star will continue to soar like we never met, except, well, you’ll have me as an ally for life. You want that, Marnie. You want me on your side.”
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Wilde pushed on, shifting from carrot back to stick. “But if you walk away from me now, I’ll make sure you get canceled so harshly you’ll wish you were Peter Bennett. I won’t be your friend, Marnie. I’ll make it my mission to ruin you.”
A tear ran down Marnie’s cheek. “Why are you being so mean?”
“I’m not being mean. I’m being honest.”
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
Wilde held up a flash drive. There was nothing on it. It was just a prop, part of this charade. “I know, Marnie.”
And then Marnie said it: “If you know, why do you need me?”
There it was. The admission. A person telling the truth has no need to say this or worry. She hadn’t been totally honest on that podcast. Wilde was sure of it now.
“Because I need confirmation. Just for myself. Dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. I don’t do any of this lightly. I know you didn’t tell the truth on the podcast. I have the proof. It’s enough to ruin you.”
“Stop saying that!”
Marnie had a point. Wilde was winging this now and not doing a great job of it. It also dawned on him that those Hartford cops had done something similar to him in terms of trying to bluff. He felt bad about that, using their techniques, but not bad enough to stop.
“And I did the right thing,” Marnie said. “If you know everything, you know that.”
The right thing? Oh boy. He had to tread lightly here.
