No Way Back (A Shannon Ames Thriller Book 5), page 21
As she spoke, the man stood beside her, half in the image. Shannon watched as he slowly moved a gun towards Fain until the barrel was pressing against her temple.
“This is not a fake,” she repeated, and began crying. “What you’re seeing is re–”
The image went black, and then five words appeared in bold white:
VOTE YES OR SHE DIES
Shannon released a shuddering breath. She tried to put the emotion aside and quiet the clamoring thoughts; there was no time to process what she’d just seen – no time for Fain, anyway – she needed to act. Eddie Caprice’s phone had to get to video forensics for any clues in the image, and they had to trace the source.
When she said as much to Eddie, he just looked at her. “You should think about that.”
“What are you talking about?” She added, “And when did you get this?”
“An hour ago. Joel sent it. I drove straight here.”
“Has anyone else seen it?”
“No.”
“Not Cutter?”
“Not Cutter. Joel showed me and was about to call your people. I advised him to wait. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Well, I’m off the case. I’m suspended as of yesterday.”
“I heard. I called your office first.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing. I spoke to the clerk, asked if you were in, he said no. I asked for the covering agent, he said, ‘Let me check,’ and then came back two minutes later and said you weren’t. But his tone had changed, and I knew what it meant.” Caprice gave her a look like he already knew the answer. “They got to you, didn’t they?”
For a moment, she made no response. They sat parked on the street in front of her apartment building, Eddie’s SUV idling. A light rain started to sprinkle against the windshield.
“I’m being investigated for embezzlement.”
He whistled. “Ouch. That could take a while. And you’re probably still taking heat for arresting Joel in the first place, not letting him turn himself in. Am I right?”
“You’re not wrong.”
“What’s the max penalty short of being fired?”
“Forty-five days. Listen – thank you for bringing this to me. But Senator Nickerson’s instincts are right –this needs to get into the proper hands.”
“Okay, so let your people work on it. But what are you gonna do?”
“I just told you. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Did you find anything on Cutter? On who he was meeting with?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“It was Plexus, wasn’t it?”
She studied Eddie. “What do you know about them?”
“I know what you know. That they almost certainly stand to gain from a yes vote. And I think Cutter needs money, so he’s a perfect middleman.”
“Why does he need money?”
“I asked Joel last night. Cutter hasn’t exactly been forthcoming, but Joel thinks he’s got some medical problem. He’s had days where he couldn’t come into work, made up an excuse. He almost lost his balance once, almost fell over in front of Joel.”
Cutter’s trip to the drugstore came to mind; Merkel had witnessed him picking up multiple prescriptions. “Does Joel suspect Cutter?”
Eddie shook his head. “Cutter has been with Joel from the beginning. So even if his rational mind has an inkling, he quashed it right away.”
“Then why didn’t he share the video with Cutter? We’re talking about his number-two man, practically his consiglieri.”
“Careful. I’m his consiglieri. I’ll tell you why he didn’t share it with Cutter – because regardless of how he feels about the guy, Joel doesn’t trust anyone right now. Anyone but me. And I only trust you. Especially now that they got to you.”
She waved a hand. “I appreciate you coming to me with this. But it needs to go to the right people. And the pictures of Cutter meeting with Zach Handler from Plexus, it’s interesting, but it’s not enough to act on. Same with his possible medical issue. It’s all circumstantial. You know that.”
“Yeah, and it could never be used in court; it’s fruit of the poisonous tree, yadda yadda.” He watched Shannon a moment. “But what do you think is going to happen to this girl?”
She thought about Fain’s tear-streaked face, her choked words. There was no performance there, no deepfake – Shannon was sure it was a hundred percent real. “I don’t know. Has Joel said what he’s going to do in terms of the vote? Is he going to give them what they want tomorrow?”
Eddie gazed through the rain-specked windshield. He turned on the wipers. “I didn’t ask him that.”
She considered what the public knew – that Nickerson had been arrested in connection to Fain’s disappearance. Rumors of his having assaulted her at a New York City hotel fundraiser.
People were discussing the possibility Nickerson had been set up, but as far as Shannon knew, the motive of coercing his vote was not yet part of the public discourse. That aspect was under wraps, but barely. What would happen when people found out a senator had been extorted into changing his vote?
Nickerson had a dilemma. Vote according to his principles and possibly sentence Fain to death. Vote according to the demands of criminals and the whole system of democracy was upended.
She wanted to talk to him, discover his intentions. Did he think it was a bluff? Was he going to put first principles ahead of everything else, to adopt a firm, no-negotiating-with-terrorists position?
And what if he did vote as directed – would they even let Fain go after all was said and done? Or had she seen and heard too much; was she too much of a liability? Why would they risk it?
Shannon suddenly felt far away from home. From her roots. Her family, the farm, her church. The larger world felt run by greed and a lust for power. And not the kind of healthy interests for progress and prosperity, but a kind of superstorm of technology, money, and global reach that had implications beyond what she wanted to consider.
It didn’t matter.
She needed to focus on getting to Kristie Fain. Before it was too late.
“Putting pressure on Cutter is not the way,” she told Eddie. “If we press him, it could further jeopardize Fain.”
“Agreed. You can’t take a run at him directly, no. But you need to have eyes-on, see what he does.”
“I can’t do anything,” she said with frustration. “The Washington field office won’t respond to my requests, not when I’m suspended. And even if I could influence my office here … the new lead agent is too gung ho. Cutter will see him coming a mile away.”
Eddie sat quietly. She sensed him awaiting her decision.
“Where do you think they took her? Is she in New York? Or DC?”
“It’s a good question.” Eddie replayed the video, holding the phone so they could both watch, and turned the sound down to study the image with less distraction. The oil-stained concrete floor suggested a basement or garage. But residential, not industrial, and not an apartment building. That didn’t narrow it down much. There were tools partly in view, hanging from a pegboard behind Fain. Not immediately helpful either. It was summer, so whether she was in New York or DC, she could be sweating. And she was; a shimmer of perspiration coated her face and arms. Shannon could barely handle watching her, seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing the desperation in her voice. By all accounts, Kristin Fain was a strong, independent woman. But she’d been broken.
“All right,” Shannon said quietly. The video had ended.
“All right?”
“Let’s go.”
Eddie put the SUV in gear. “Yes, ma’am. And where exactly are we going?”
“We need to find Keith Cutter.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. And the good news is, we won’t need to look very hard.”
“Why?”
“Because I had Tom Merkel put a tracker on him three days ago.”
36
Interstate 95 teemed with motorists, people returning home from a leisurely August weekend. The noon sun starred off all the glass and chrome. Eddie weaved through traffic, pushing the Ford up to eighty.
Going after Keith Cutter with a civilian – and while actively suspended – was exceedingly bad judgment. But it was her best shot. It was Fain’s best shot. And if, at most, it got them information she could pass on to her colleagues, it was worth it.
But it plagued her.
Eddie said, “So, forty-five days that you could be suspended before they drop the hammer?”
“Yeah.”
He shook his head. “In my day, the department would pass the hat to try to make up some or all of an officer’s missed wages.”
He meant other cops contributing to a kind of informal fund for the suspended officer. Shannon wondered if the NYO would do that for her – she’d barely been there a week. But wages were the last thing she was concerned with at the moment.
“So where you from, Shannon?”
“I’m sorry … I don’t feel like talking.”
“Come on, we’re only twenty minutes in; a good two and a half hours left. It’ll go quicker if we get to know each other.”
She sighed, nodded; he was right. “Upstate New York, in the Adirondacks.”
“Ah, beautiful up there. God’s country, they say.”
“It is.” For a moment she thought of Caldoza, whose family had left him property not far from where she’d grown up. For a short time, she and Caldoza had made plans together. Maybe they’d even retire up there together one day. But it had been fantasy. Their work was too consuming, too dangerous.
God – was this her life? In the morning, she would have to submit to rounds of questioning from the OIG. Her world was about to be turned upside down, and here she was, speeding south to Washington, DC, with an ex-cop who moonlighted as a US senator’s personal fixer. Talk about digging the hole deeper.
“I’ve been to a farm a few times,” Eddie said. “Cows and all of that. Jersey actually has a lot of rural areas.” He gave her a sideways look. “You’re not gonna ask me where I grew up – you already know.”
“Kearny. The same place you live now.”
“Beautiful place. When I was growing up, mostly no crime, no drugs.” His mood seemed to darken. “All the opioids now – I know somebody’s getting rich. A lot of somebodies are getting rich. My son-in-law, Joe, was hurt in a traffic accident while in a high-speed pursuit. Messed up his legs, both of his knees. They prescribed him hydrocodone.” Eddie sounded remorseful. “They never should’ve given him that shit. Some strong Tylenol would’ve done it. But they had to push this stuff. Had to get it out there. And he didn’t know any better. None of us did. He got hooked. And then, to keep things together, the marriage, the family, Tammy would bring it home from the hospital.”
He glanced at Shannon, an apology in his eyes. “She regrets it to her core. Because when she eventually said ‘no more,’ Joe started copping off the street. Using the badge. And … he had drugs in his system when he got shot in the line of duty. So when he died, the insurance investigation turned up that he was an addict, and Tammy and Zoe got nothing. She works around the clock to pay the bills. There’s some money for day care, but she works odd hours that day care doesn’t cover.”
“So you step in.”
“I do what I can. It’s not much. They deserve a lot more than me. A lot better.” He changed lanes after passing a tractor-trailer. The bruises on his knuckles had faded some, but not entirely.
A minute passed in silence. Shannon had texts from Bufort, who was the only one who knew what she was doing. Nickerson had sent the video to the FBI after Eddie had contacted him, and now the techs were studying it for clues. Kilburn had spoken with Nickerson and discussed strategies. But Bufort texted her:
No one knows what the fuck to do.
Eddie’s friend Tom Merkel was how she expected: in his sixties with saggy eyes and a PI’s stomach hanging over his pleated pants. He met them in a Burger King parking lot ten minutes from the Capitol, to update them on Cutter.
Shannon and Eddie stayed in the car while Merkel stood beside the open driver’s-side window. “I followed him around all morning, seemed like the usual slate of errands,” Merkel said about Cutter. “Now he’s at the office. Been there for the past three hours.” He ducked his head to get another look at Shannon. “So … it’s just the two of you?”
Eddie sidestepped the question. “How does the tracking work?” He had an app open on his phone.
Merkel took it. “Here. So, basically, the subject has a GPS dot. I’ll put in the number on it and you’ll have it on your phone. See? I give you the number for the GPS dot; now you can track it on your own app. That’s it.” He poked at the screen a moment and handed it back. “Modern tech, huh?”
“I hear you.”
Merkel sniffed and looked off into the distance. “He sent his wife and daughter away this morning.”
Shannon leaned over to get a better look at the ex-cop. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I put a dot on both of Cutter’s vehicles, his and hers. Sometimes he takes hers – it’s a Honda Fit, better gas mileage, maybe. I was on the house this morning, she and the daughter – fourteen – left with bags. A little while later, they were in Bethesda, and they’ve been there since.”
“Thanks, Tommy,” Eddie said. The men shook hands.
Shannon and Eddie waited on East Capitol Street, parked in front of the Supreme Court. They had a straight view of the Capitol Building down the street: pillared, alabaster white, dome topped with the colossal bronze Statue of Freedom – the one she’d seen replicated inside. The sun descended behind it.
She felt restless, but they needed to wait. Wait for what the techs might find, for what Kilburn decided to do. And to see what moves Cutter made.
When he left that evening, they tracked him to his house in Forest Hills, a residential area in the northwest of the city. Once parked, his SUV was the sole vehicle in the driveway. The house was two stories, redbrick with black shutters, plenty of shrubs and trees. A first-floor window glowed yellow as the world dissolved into darkness.
“Looks like he’s all alone,” Caprice said. “Are you ready to do this? I’d say it’s now or never.”
But she didn’t move. Her phone sat on her lap – her last text to Bufort had asked for an update, but he’d had nothing earth-shattering to report. While agents studied the video content, techs from the WFO had cloned Nickerson’s phone and were trying to source the video. As expected, it had been routed through the deep web, rendering it untraceable. Same with the money paid to Ryan Sherwood, the actor.
She thought of Fain: beaten, terrified, abused as a political bargaining chip. Waiting in purgatory while dozens of law enforcement figured out what to do.
The least she could do was talk to Cutter. She was here. Nothing illegal about a little conversation. Nothing that would alarm him, she hoped, and endanger Fain. If, in fact, there was even a real connection there.
Shannon closed her eyes a moment, seeking guidance. The response was quiet, just the sound of Eddie breathing beside her, a little whistle in his nose.
“Okay,” she said, eyes open. “But we do this my way.”
When she walked up to the house, she was alone. She knocked on the door and rang the buzzer, suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. Did you wear a T-shirt, jeans, black boots and a small golden crucifix when you were about to interrogate a suspect off the books? Maybe she should’ve worn the rose gold …
Multiple dogs were barking. Beneath their racket, a beeping sound.
When the door opened, Cutter stared out at her. “Special Agent Ames. What’s …? How can I help you?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
He didn’t smile back.
She switched to blunt tactics: “Mr. Cutter, I have information I need to share with you – and a few questions that won’t take long. Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
He opened the door wider, allowing her to pass, then closed it. A red light flashed on a wall panel – it appeared Cutter had deactivated an alarm to let her in. His two large gray dogs, Neapolitan mastiffs by the look of their wrinkly faces and drooping jowls, came trotting over, nails clicking the marble floor. He grabbed their collars and put them in a separate room, then led Shannon into a living area where the décor was more cozy than formal. A gas-burning fireplace with fake logs, two couches that faced each other, a large potted plant in each corner.
“I’d give you the tour,” Cutter said, “but it seems urgent.”
“It is.”
Cutter was still dressed in work clothing, though his jacket and tie were removed. She saw them draped over the one hardback chair in the room, situated at a small desk against the far wall. An open door on that same wall led to a kitchen.
“Do we have time to sit?” Cutter asked.
“That’s okay.” She took her phone out and queued up the video as she continued: “When is the last time you spoke to Senator Nickerson?”
“Just before I left work,” Cutter answered. “He’s at home, trying to avoid the media. Agent Ames, I have to say – your good work finding that actor – Senator Nickerson is incredibly grateful. We all are.”
She held his eye a moment. “Did the senator seem to behave strangely at all today? Let me clarify: Have there been any developments you know about, anything since his release?”
Cutter looked puzzled. “Developments … I don’t know, I didn’t see him a lot today. But obviously he has a lot on his mind. When we did speak, yeah, I suppose you could say he seemed distracted.” Cutter’s gaze ticked to the window, like he saw something outside, or was expecting to. “Are you here on your own?”
“I’m the only agent here, yes. Mr. Cutter, let me ask you – what is the senator going to do?”
“You mean how is he going to vote? I honestly don’t know. I’m sure you can imagine – this has just been a whirlwind.”
