The Match, page 22
But of course, this was, to use a journalistic term, burying the lede:
Katherine Frole had been murdered.
When Chris saw that, when he realized how big this really was, he did something that would probably shock Polar Bear, Alpaca, Kitten, and Giraffe—the remaining members of Boomerang.
He deleted Boomerang.
All of it. Every file. Every correspondence. Every connection between members.
Did he still trust the other animals? He was not sure. But it was irrelevant. One had been murdered. Any road that could possibly lead to another member had to be severed.
Could one of the other Boomerang members be the killer?
It was horrifying, but Chris had to consider the possibility.
What was certain, however, was that the FBI would be on this case fast and with their best people. Assuming that they had Katherine Frole’s computer, the feds would comb through it with all of the resources at their disposal. Chris had put in a lot of safeguards. All the members followed a strict protocol. But obviously that hadn’t worked out. Either Panther had broken protocol or someone had found a way in. That meant, of course, Boomerang could be exposed.
In short, severing all ties was mandatory.
Now that Chris was alone, what was his next step?
He realized that he might know more than the FBI. Would they have already tied Panther’s murder to Henry McAndrews’s or Martin Spirow’s? Doubtful. The news and the internet had nothing about links amongst the three, but there was no way to know for certain.
That was another big complication.
Even with stakes this high, Chris couldn’t go to law enforcement. That would be breaking protocol in the worst way. If the FBI got their hands on anyone involved in Boomerang, that member would end up in federal prison or worse. No doubt. And if Boomerang’s victims found out who was behind the group, they would demand revenge in violent ways.
There was danger everywhere. But that didn’t mean Chris would let a killer walk free.
He would have to handle it himself.
The question was, How?
* * *
After Betz and Kissell left and they were alone again in her law office, Hester said, “What the hell, Wilde?”
Wilde said nothing. He looked up the number on his phone and hit the call button.
“Your father?”
Wilde put the phone to his ear and heard the ring.
“Peter Bennett is related to you on your mother’s side, right?”
Wilde nodded. The phone still rang. No one answered.
“So how does your father fit into this?”
Wilde hung up. “No one is answering at his place of business.”
“Whose place of business?”
“My father’s. Daniel Carter’s. DC Dream House Construction.”
“Do you have his mobile?”
“No.”
“His home?”
Wilde shook his head. “I’ll ask Rola to track him down.”
“Any clue why the feds would be interested in him?”
“None.”
“Or why they’d find your visit to him suspicious?”
“Only one possibility,” Wilde said.
“And that is?”
“Daniel Carter lied to me.”
“About?”
Wilde had no idea. He called Rola and filled her in. In his mind’s eye, Wilde could see young Rola, the serious student, taking notes in that room she shared with three other rotating foster girls. Rola was detail-oriented and industrious and dogged. It was what made her such a great investigator. You wanted Rola in your corner.
When he finished, she said, “Holy shit, Wilde.”
“I know.”
“I got someone in Vegas. I’ll report back what I find.”
Wilde hung up. Hester had moved to the window. She stared out at the awe-inspiring view of the Manhattan skyline. “Two people murdered,” she said.
“I know.”
“The FBI seemed convinced that your cousin is dead too,” Hester said. She turned away from the window. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your gut isn’t telling you anything?”
“I never go by my gut,” Wilde said.
“Not even in the woods?”
“That’s survival instinct. That’s climbing out of the primordial muck and learning to stay alive. That, yes, I listen to. But if you are deluded and narcissistic enough to believe you should obey your gut rather than looking coldly at the facts, that’s your bias, not your gut.”
“Interesting.”
“And right now, like you said with Sherlock, we don’t know enough to theorize.”
“Agree, but we really can’t investigate the murders. The FBI will be digging into these cases with everything they have. But right now, only you and I know that Marnie Cassidy lied about what Peter Bennett did to her. That gives us one distinct advantage.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“You up for rocking the boat?”
“I am. How do we start?”
Hester was already heading to the door. “We tell Jenn what her sister did.”
Chapter
Thirty
The receptionist at Sky buzzed up to the condo where Jenn Cassidy was staying. “Hester Crimstein is here to see you.” The receptionist looked over at Wilde. “And your name?”
“Wilde.”
“And a Mr. Wilde too.”
The receptionist listened for a moment. She turned away as though to be discreet. Hester could see how this was going. She yelled out loud enough for Jenn to hear, “You’ll want to see us before this story breaks, believe me.”
The receptionist stiffened. A moment later, she hung up and said, “The elevator will bring you up to Miss Cassidy’s home. Enjoy your visit.”
The elevator door opened. The button for the second floor was already lit. When the door slid open, Jenn Cassidy, dressed in Versace, was waiting by the door to apartment two. She did not look happy to see Hester again. Hester didn’t care.
Jenn squinted at Wilde. “How do I know you? Wait. You’re that Tarzan kid. I saw a documentary on you a few years ago.”
He stuck out his hand. “My name is Wilde.”
She shook it, albeit reluctantly. “Look,” Jenn said, blocking access to her apartment and meeting Hester’s gaze, “I don’t know what you want, but I think we said everything last time.”
“We didn’t,” Hester said.
Jenn motioned toward Wilde. “And he’s here because…”
“Wilde is related to Peter.”
“My Peter?”
“Well, he’s not yours anymore, is he? That’s why we’re here, in fact.”
“I don’t understand.”
Wilde took that one. “Marnie lied. Peter never attacked her.”
Jenn smiled at that. Actually smiled. “That’s not possible.”
“I spoke to her,” Wilde said. “She admitted it.”
The smile started to falter. “Marnie told you—”
“Do we really want to continue to have this discussion in the hallway?” Hester asked.
Jenn still smiled, but there was nothing behind it. It was a defense mechanism, a reflex, nothing more. She stumbled back into her apartment. Hester pushed in first, followed by Wilde.
“Let’s all sit down,” Hester said. “It’s been a long day, and I’m pooped.”
They did. Jenn staggered and collapsed onto the couch. The smile was gone now. Her entire expression had caved in, like a house with the support beams giving way. She cleared her throat and said, “Please tell me what happened.”
Wilde told her about stopping Marnie in the street. She listened attentively, but every once in a while, she closed her eyes as if someone had struck her. When Wilde finished, Jenn asked, “Why would I believe you?”
“Call Marnie,” Hester said.
Jenn chuckled without an iota of humor. “No need.”
“What do you mean?”
“Marnie’s on her way here now. We’re heading to a new burger place in Tribeca.”
It took ten more minutes before the receptionist buzzed up and announced Marnie’s arrival. Hester spent the time talking to her office. The Richard Levine jury had still not come back, and the judge seemed prepared to call a mistrial. Wilde replayed his Las Vegas visit with Daniel Carter. How could his birth father possibly fit into what was happening with Peter Bennett? How did it relate to the murders of Henry McAndrews and Katherine Frole?
For her part, Jenn simply stared straight ahead.
When they heard the knock, all three of them stood. Jenn moved in a haze toward the front door. When she opened it, Marnie was in mid-blather. “You should just give me a key, Jenn. It’s ridiculous not to. I mean, suppose you need someone to come by when you’re away or what’s the point in you having to get up and open the door, oh and this burger place, my friend Terry, remember him, he’s that tall guy with the weird Adam’s apple? He said it’s great and they pay top dollar for influencer photos…”
That was when she spotted Wilde.
Marnie’s eyes flew open. “No!” she screamed at him. “You promised! You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone!”
Wilde said nothing.
Tears sprang from her eyes. “Why are you so mean?”
Jenn’s voice was too quiet: “What did you do, Marnie?”
“What? You believe him?”
Jenn said, “Marnie.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Then: “I did it for you! To protect you!”
Jenn’s eyes closed.
“And it was all true! Don’t you see? Peter was a monster! He confessed! That’s what you told me, right?”
Jenn sounded so exhausted as she repeated the question. “What did you do, Marnie?”
“I did the right thing!”
With more steel in the tone: “What. Did. You. Do?”
Marnie opened her mouth, probably to protest more, but when she saw her sister’s face, she realized that more denials would be futile or worse.
Her voice was suddenly very soft, like a little girl crouching in a corner. “I’m so sorry, Jenn. I’m so so sorry.”
* * *
Marnie came clean.
It took time, of course. There were a lot of I did this for you’s and Peter was a monster’s, but through that smoke, the story came out. As Marnie recounted the events that led her to make those accusations on that podcast, Jenn just sat in silence and continued to stare straight ahead.
“I was out in LA going on a ton of auditions. But nothing was happening for me. Not that that matters. Oh, shoot, I’m not telling this right, am I? Anyway, you know I was a finalist for Love Is a Battlefield, but there were issues finding the right story line to fit my talents. They said I had a ton of star potential, but because I was your sister, it would be weird to launch a separate subplot for me, but if they could tie our story lines together, that could be gold.”
“Who is they?” Hester asked.
“I was mostly talking to Jake.”
Hester looked at Jenn. Jenn closed her eyes and said, “Junior producer.”
Marnie recounted what she’d told Wilde about being called in, listening to a woman’s tearful story (a woman, she now confessed, she hadn’t known before that day or seen since), agreeing to go on the podcast to “help” the woman tell her story. Somewhere around then, Jenn stood up and said, “I have to reach him.”
“Who?” Marnie asked.
“Who do you think?” Jenn snapped.
“But Peter admitted it!”
Jenn dialed Peter’s phone number. The phone had been disconnected. Her texts bounced back. Wilde watched Jenn’s agitation grow. She dialed another number, and when someone picked up, Jenn said, “Vicky? Where is he? I need to talk to him.” She closed her eyes and listened, no doubt hearing Vicky tell her that she too didn’t know where her brother was.
Marnie’s cheeks were coated in tears. “Jenn, he confessed! You told me that! You said he admitted it!”
“No,” Jenn said.
“Hold up,” Hester said to her. “You told me the same thing—that Peter came clean to you, that he confessed right here on this couch.”
“But don’t you see?”
“See what?”
“What I saw on Peter’s face…it wasn’t guilt. It was betrayal. My betrayal. I broke our trust when I didn’t believe him. It’s all my fault.”
“But those awful pics!” Marnie shouted. “Those were him! They weren’t photoshopped!”
“I have to talk to him.” Jenn started plucking at her trembling lower lip. “We need to get this out there.”
“Get what out there?” Marnie started sobbing. “You can’t tell anyone!”
“We have to, Marnie.”
“Are you insane?”
“I’ll also need to post on Instagram right away.”
“What? No!”
“We need to make sure Peter sees the message and comes home.”
“Comes home?” Marnie repeated. “He’s probably dead.”
Jenn’s body went stiff. “We don’t know that.”
“Please, Jenn, just take a breath, okay? You can’t just blame me for all this! I spoke to that woman, the one Peter roofied—”
“Oh, come on, Marnie,” Jenn snapped, “you’re not that stupid. She was a plant. Probably another junior producer playacting.”
Marnie put her hands together in prayer position. “Please, Jenn, I’m begging you. You can’t—”
“Marnie?”
Marnie stopped talking, as though the word had slapped her across the face.
“I love you. You’re my sister. But you’ve done enough harm, don’t you think? Your best chance—your only chance now—is to do some good.”
Marnie just sat there, hands folded in her lap, looking lost.
Wilde turned to Jenn and said, “Peter told you he was adopted.”
The change of subject threw Jenn. It took her a second, but then she said, “Yeah, so? What does that have to do with this? For that matter, no offense, but what do you have to do with any of this?”
“Do you know Peter put his DNA into a genealogy website?”
“What does that…? Yes, I knew. When he found out he was adopted, he naturally wanted to learn about his birth family. He signed up for a bunch of those DNA sites, but I thought he deleted them all once he found out the truth.”
Wilde glanced at Hester. Hester gestured for him to ask the obvious. “Are you saying Peter found his birth family?”
“Yes.”
“Who were they?”
“He never told me.”
“But he found them? You’re certain?”
Jenn nodded. “He found the truth. That’s what he said. And that was enough for him, I guess. Once he found the truth about his family, he didn’t want anything to do with them.”
Chapter
Thirty-One
Hester had been called back into court. There were rumors of a decision in the Richard Levine murder trial. Wilde headed back to New Jersey. As he passed the Sheridan Avenue exit on Route 17, his mobile rang. The caller ID told him it was Matthew.
“Holy shit,” Matthew said.
“What?”
“You didn’t hear about Jenn Cassidy’s post? Sutton is freaking out. Did Marnie just make up all that stuff about Peter Bennett?”
Wilde sighed. “What does Jenn’s post say?”
“Just something about the Peter stuff not being true and asking everyone to bring him home. Dude, the whole world is looking for Peter now. Did you have something to do with this?”
“Tangentially, I guess.”
“I knew it! Sutton is going crazy. The Battler boards are blowing up. Your name hasn’t gotten out yet.”
“Good. Where are you?”
“Hanging at the house.”
Wilde had an idea. “Do you mind if I come over and use the computer?”
“Sure. We got my laptop or the Mac in the family room—”
“Both if you can.”
“No worries. Sutton isn’t coming over until later.”
“What about your mom?”
“Why don’t you ask her, Wilde?” When Wilde didn’t reply, Matthew sighed and said, “I’m not sure when she’ll be home. Why? You avoiding her?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Can I ask you to do me a favor in the meantime?”
“What?”
“Search for DNA database websites.”
“You mean like 23andMe?”
“Exactly. Find as many of the top ones as you can.”
Fifteen minutes later, Matthew met Wilde at the door and led him to the Mac in the family room. He’d set up his own laptop on the other side of the table. Wilde sat in front of the Mac, Matthew in front of the laptop.
“Okay,” Matthew said, “what are we doing?”
“You got the list of the DNA databases?”
“Yep.”
“We need to try to sign in to all of them.”
Wilde gave him Peter’s email address and the LoveJenn447 password he’d picked up from his first visit to Vicky Chiba’s.
Matthew tried the first. “Can’t get in. It says incorrect password.” He tried another. “Same. Are you sure about the password?”
“No.” Wilde remembered how he’d gotten into the Instagram account via Peter Bennett’s email address. “Here, let’s try this. Hit the forgot password link so we can reset it.”
While Matthew did that, Wilde signed in to Peter Bennett’s email. He checked through it and saw nothing new. He moved from the tab labeled “Primary” to the one called “Promotions.” As soon as he did, a new message popped up from MeetYourFamily with instructions on how to get a new password if you’d forgotten your current one. Wilde followed the directions. Matthew kept working. Another email popped up in Peter’s inbox from yet another DNA database site with instructions on how to get a new password. Wilde again clicked the link.
