Fatal Conceit (22 page)

“He was a good man, and a great soldier. It's a shame it had to come to this.”

Fauhomme glared at him. “And it's a real fucking shame that the guy you chose for the job was not a team player. If you'd done a better job of vetting him we wouldn't be having this conversation or be knee deep in manure.” He stood up from his desk and indicated the door. “Now if you'll excuse us, I need to talk to Big Ray here . . . alone.”

After Lindsey left, Fauhomme turned to Baum. “Once we have the girl and her computer—and we're sure there're no loose ends that could come back to haunt us—she's going to have an accident, am I clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

S
TUPENAGEL ARRIVED WITH
M
ARLENE OUTSIDE
the apartment building in the Chelsea district, using the address for Jenna Blair that Allen had given her. She stepped forward and pressed the buzzer. A woman answered timidly.

“Who's there?”

“Ariadne Stupenagel. I'm looking for Jenna Blair or her roommate.”

“Stupenagel? Aren't you a reporter? I've read your stories.”

Stupenagel raised an eyebrow as she glanced at Marlene. “Yes, but—”

“I don't want to talk to the press,” the woman interrupted. “Jenna's gone, and I don't know anything. Leave me alone.”

“I was about to say that I'm not here as a reporter,” Stupenagel spoke quickly. “I was a friend of Sam Allen's, and he asked me to look in on Jenna if something happened to him.”

There was a slight hesitation. “How do I know you're telling the truth?”

“Well . . . let's see . . . I can tell you they met on July Fourth at a party on Long Island, and they've been seeing each other ever since. I know she's a law student and is from Colorado . . .”

“You could have got that from someone else . . .”

“But Sam told me on Friday. Then he was going away to his cabin and was taking Jenna with him.” When the other woman didn't respond she continued. “I've known Sam for more than twenty years, and I know he loved her very much.”

The other woman sighed. “She loved him, too. Now they're acting like she had something to do with . . . with it.”

“Who's ‘they'?”

“The FBI agents and that other guy. They told me not to talk to anybody.”

Stupenagel looked up at the security camera. “I don't want to frighten you any more than you already are, but I'm worried that Jenna could be in danger. I loved Sam . . .” She choked up and had to start over. “I loved Sam, too. They can't order you not to talk to someone else. And in this case it might be the safest thing to do for everybody, especially Jenna.”

“Who's that with you?”

“My best friend, Marlene Ciampi. She's an attorney and a private investigator. She's trying to help, too.”

The other woman sighed. Then the security door buzzed. “I don't know what I can do, but come on in.”

The two friends made their way up to the apartment, where a pretty, young brunette stood waiting for them outside the door. “I'm Sharon,” she said, holding out her hand. “Sharon McKinney.”

When they were seated around a coffee table in the small living room, McKinney was the first to speak. “I spent Sunday night at my boyfriend's place,” she explained. “I didn't know about Sam until I got back to my apartment about nine in the morning, maybe a little after. Jenna was gone and that guy was here.”

“Do you know who he was?”

McKinney shrugged. “He showed me an identification card that said he was a federal agent of some kind. I think his name was Ray or Dave . . . something like that. He didn't let me see it for long.”

“Did he say what he was doing?”

“Looking for Jenna. He said she was wanted for questioning
about Sam's death. That's the first I'd heard of what happened.” McKinney stopped talking and reached for a box of tissues on the coffee table. “It's just so terrible. But I know Jenna didn't have anything to do with it. And she was here all night.”

“You're sure of that?” Marlene asked.

“Well, I talked to her after she got back from the cabin. Then later on we were texting when she said that Sam was trying to talk to her on the webcam and she had to go.”

“You still have that text?”

McKinney nodded. “Yeah, I'm bad about not erasing texts. I probably have a few hundred old ones on my phone.”

“Do me a favor and make sure that you don't erase that one,” Marlene said. “In fact, if you wouldn't mind, forward me a copy so that we have a record. It could be important to Jenna later.”

“This guy who was here, can you describe him?” Stupenagel asked.

“Yeah, tall, good-looking, built like an athlete—the sort of guy who'd catch your eye if you were looking for a boyfriend, which I wasn't, and in fact he kind of gave me the creeps.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don't know how to describe it,” McKinney replied. “I mean on the outside he was nice enough; he didn't yell or threaten me. But I got the feeling there was something just beneath the skin, like he was really angry and had to fight not to show it.”

“Anything else you can think of about him?”

McKinney started to shake her head no but then stopped. “He had a tat on his right forearm. It was the Marine Corps emblem; my boyfriend has the exact same one. Hey, what's the matter? Did I say something?”

The young woman was looking at Stupenagel's face, which had gone pale. “The guy at the White Horse bar,” she half-whispered. “He was following Sam.” She recovered and urged McKinney to go on.

“Something just didn't seem right about him,” the young
woman said. “I was getting suspicious but then these two FBI agents got here; they seemed to know who he was. I could tell they didn't like him either and he left pretty quick.”

Stupenagel leaned forward and grabbed McKinney's hand. “Do you have any idea of where Jenna went? You need to be honest, Sharon, her life could depend on it.”

Looking more frightened, McKinney denied knowing. “The FBI agents asked me, too. I just don't know. Maybe home to Colorado . . . one of her other friends . . . maybe Connie Rae Lee.”

“Who's she? Does she live in New York?”

“Yes. She's some big-shot political guy's girlfriend. I guess he's like the president's campaign manager or something like that.”

Stupenagel and Marlene exchanged glances. “Mind if we look around a little?” Marlene asked. “Maybe we'll see something that gives us a clue.”

“Go ahead, but between that Ray guy and the FBI agents they went through everything.”

While Stupenagel started out in the living room and kitchen, Marlene followed McKinney to Jenna's bedroom, where she walked over to the desk. “You said Jenna was going to get on the webcam with Sam. I don't see a computer. Did the agents take it?”

“We both just have laptops; mine's in my bedroom,” McKinney said. “She must have hers with her. I know the men didn't take it, and that first guy asked me where it was. He was interested in whether she had any recording equipment. I didn't tell him, because I thought it might get Jenna in trouble, but she did have an app in her computer that would let her record webcam conversations. She liked to tape Sam and then played them back over and over when he was gone. That girl was really in love.”

“I take it this is Jenna and Sam,” Marlene said, pointing to a framed photograph above the desk just as Stupenagel walked up behind her.

“Yes, I think it was taken at the lake.”

Suddenly, Stupenagel clutched Marlene's elbow. “I think I know where she is! No wonder Sam asked if I remembered the way.”

Marlene immediately understood and turned to McKinney. “We've got to run. With your permission, I'm going to call Detective Clay Fulton. He works for the New York district attorney, who happens to be my husband, and is the most trustworthy cop you'll ever meet in your life. I'd like you to tell him everything you told us, including showing him that text.”

McKinney looked scared but she nodded. “If I can help . . .”

Marlene reached out and patted her shoulder. “You've already been a big help. Clay will make sure that you're okay. He's not afraid of anybody.”

With that the two women were racing out the door and down the stairs headed for Marlene's pickup truck, which she'd parked a block away.

“I should have known he didn't start talking about the cabin just for old times' sake,” Stupenagel said as they pulled away from the curb. “He was letting me know I should go there if something happened to him.”

“So you think she'd go there, too,” Marlene said. “Why? Wouldn't that be an obvious place for someone to look for her?”

“I don't know,” Stupenagel replied. “It's just a hunch. But we won't know until we get there. None of us—not me, not Butch, not Clay, not you—believe Sam killed himself. So he was murdered. And if this guy was following him three days before, I'll bet he had something to do with it.”

“Then he came looking for Jenna,” Marlene added. “And the FBI agents knew him.”

Stupenagel whistled under her breath. “How high up does this go? If it's the same guy, and I'd bet my entire shoe collection it is, he follows Sam to the White Horse, where Sam tells me that someone in government who doesn't want him to tell the truth about what happened in Chechnya is blackmailing him over his affair with Jenna. Jesus, Marlene, I think we need to find her before he does.”

“The Finger Lakes area is a good four-hour drive,” Marlene said. “Think we ought to call the cops up there and ask them to see if she's at the cabin.”

“No way,” Stupenagel said. “If I'm right about Sam's death being a hit ordered from somebody in the administration, who you going to call that you can trust? They're being told that Jenna is wanted for questioning. If they find her, they'll turn her over to the first guy with a federal badge. Then what do you bet something happens to her?”

“You're right, but I'm going to call Clay and tell him about Sharon and what we're up to,” Marlene said. “And I'm going to let Butch know, too.”

•  •  •

Driving Interstate 81 north, the two women spent the first couple of hours talking: Stupenagel about Sam Allen; Marlene about Lucy and the possible connection to his murder that seemed increasingly likely. Then they lapsed into silence and passed the remaining miles looking at the foliage that was already starting to wane, lost in their own thoughts.

The chance to take action of any sort was a welcome relief to Marlene after the hell she'd been going through worrying about Lucy, but with nothing she could do about it. Much of her emotional energy was spent convincing herself that her daughter, and Ned, were alive. She pestered Ivgeny Karchovski to keep asking his contacts, but all they'd done was confirm that there were no females among the dead and that there were at least two missing males.

Just the evening before the president had made a big deal of meeting with the family of Deputy Chief of Mission David Huff. The family had little to say about the meeting except that the president told them that he would do everything in his power “to find out who did this and bring them to justice.”

But,
Marlene thought,
if he already knew who was really behind the attack—and it wasn't who his flunkies were saying it was—that means he's lying about what he knew and when he knew it regarding the murder of American citizens
.
And to do that to a victim's family? Unconscionable.

Marlene called Fulton first and filled him in so that he could get right to Sharon McKinney. She then called her husband and did the same.

“Be careful,” he said. “If what you're saying is true, you've got an elephant by the tail. I've got Jaxon coming by this afternoon. He called from D.C. to say he was flying in and wanted to talk.”

“About what?” Marlene asked hopefully.

“Didn't say. He was obviously avoiding talking about whatever it is over the telephone.”

“Let me know. Whatever it is, I want to know.”

“I will, sweetheart, just keep believing.”

As they drove, Stupenagel tried calling the number she had for Jenna Blair. When there was no answer, she texted that she was a friend of Sam's and wanted to meet. But again there was no reply.

“Actually, it might be a good thing if she has her phone turned off,” Marlene said. “Otherwise someone looking for her—someone with the power to force the phone company to cooperate—could triangulate her position from cell towers.”

“Think she's that savvy?”

“So far she's managed to elude the FBI, and your friend with the tattoo,” Marlene pointed out.

“At least we hope she has,” Stupenagel replied. “For all we know, he's already found her.”

The women arrived in the tiny town of Orvin just before five o'clock. Stupenagel tried to find the road on the far side of town that would lead to the cabin, but after a couple of false starts admitted that the town had changed a lot “and I'm a little lost. But I know where to go. We passed the post office and if you want to find someone in a small town, that's where you ask.”

When they got to the post office there was only one vehicle, a police car, parked in the lot. The building was deserted, too, except for the woman behind the counter, who was talking to a uniformed officer whose shoulder badge identified him as a town constable. “What can I do for you?” asked the short, plump, middle-aged woman. Her hair, which was nearly white, framed her open, pleasant face. “We're getting ready to close.”

“I won't take much of your time,” Stupenagel said. “It's been a long time since I've been here and I needed directions to a friend's cabin.”