Seven Days Off

A Mylas Grey Mystery

Book VII

by Luana Ehrlich

Copyright © 2024 Luana Ehrlich

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

You’re invited to visit the author’s website here: LuanaEhrlich.com

All books by Luana Ehrlich are available on Amazon here

When you sign up for Luana’s newsletter, you’ll receive a FREE download of One Step Back, the prequel to the Titus Ray Thriller Series. Her bi-monthly newsletter contains notices about when her books are on sale, plus updates about her series, along with information about new books and giveaways from other authors. Join Luana’s newsletter here and receive your FREE BOOK.

The Prequel to One Day Gone and the Mylas Grey Mystery Series is A Day Ago, available on Amazon here.

To James Ehrlich,

the most mysterious man I know,

and the love of my life.

Books by Luana Ehrlich,

USA Today bestselling author

Available on Amazon

Each book can be read as a standalone novel, but to have the series experience, the following order is suggested.

Order of Titus Ray Thriller Series:

One Step Back, the prequel to One Night in Tehran

One Night in Tehran, Book I

Two Days in Caracas, Book II

Three Weeks in Washington, Book III

Four Months in Cuba, Book IV

Five Years in Yemen, Book V

Two Steps Forward, Book VI

Three Steps Away, Book VII

Four Steps Missed, Book VIII

Five Steps Beyond, Book IX

One Good Time, Book X

Two Good Deeds, Book XI (Coming 2025)

Order of Ben Mitchell/Titus Ray Thriller Series:

(These novels are in the voice of Titus Ray, but Ben Mitchell is also featured.)

Ben in Love, Book I—chronologically, this book follows Two Steps Forward

Ben in Charge, Book II—chronologically, this book follows Three Steps Away

Ben in Trouble, Book III—chronologically, this book follows Four Steps Missed

Order of the Mylas Grey Mystery Series:

A Day Ago, the prequel to One Day Gone

One Day Gone, Book I

Two Days Taken, Book II

Three Days Clueless, Book III

Four Days Famous, Book IV

Five Days Lost, Book V

Six Days Spent, Book VI

Seven Days Off, Book VII

Eight Days Anxious, Book VIII (Coming 2025)

Order of the Silas McKay Suspense Series:

One Wonders, Book I

Two Believe, Book II

Three Confess, Book III

Four Doubt, Book IV

Five Alive, Book V (Coming 2025)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Characters

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

PART TWO

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

PART THREE

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

PART FOUR

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

PART FIVE

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

A NOTE TO MY READERS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BONUS EXCERPT

One Wonders

Books by Luana Ehrlich

List of Characters

in Seven Days Off

Avery, Buzz—A member of MGI’s surveillance crew.

Bailey, Anne—Assistant to Riley Pogue at the Red Shield Academy.

Blondi, Joe—The handyman who lives above Mylas’s garage.

Dilbeck, Lenny—Friend of Joe Blondi; recently released from prison.

Engel, Whitney—Owner of WEE Photography; Mylas’s love interest.

Fasano, Feliz—Also known as Frosty; Real Estate Developer.

Ford, Kyle—Former police detective; Associate Investigator at MGI.

Grey, Curtis—Brother of Mylas; Pastor of a church in Columbia, MO.

Grey, Kelvin—Father of Mylas; Private detective in Columbia, MO.

Grey, Mylas—Owner of Mylas Grey Investigations.

Grey, Rita—Mother of Mylas Grey.

Hank—A member of MGI’s surveillance crew.

Hernandez, Raul—Worked for Frosty Fasano, now in prison.

Higbee, Carolyn—Live-in housekeeper for Mylas.

Irving, Leslie—Associate Investigator at MGI.

Lockett, Nathan—Chief of Staff for Senator Allen; Mylas’s best friend.

McDonald, Kendall—Receptionist at MGI.

McKinney, Theodore—Lawyer who left Mylas his estate; also called “Mac.”

Novak, Bonnie—Financial Secretary at MGI.

Pogue, Riley—Director of the Red Shield Academy.

Reed, Chase—Chief of Surveillance at MGI.

Rivers, Nina—Investigative Research Analyst at MGI.

Simmons, Cassandra—Counselor at Red Shield Academy.

Simmons, Kathleen—Mother of Cassandra Simmons.

Travis, Greta—Administrative Assistant at MGI.

Welch, Sarah—Detective with the DC Police Department.

Yeary, Don—Detective with the DC Police Department.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Saturday, January 22

I didn’t realize a human being could experience so many emotions in a thirty-second period. Anger. Frustration. Pity. Disgust. Sorrow. Outrage. Irritation.

By the time I was able to get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, I had experienced every single one of those feelings, and it was all because I couldn’t use my left arm.

My useless appendage was immobilized in a sling that held my forearm firmly across my chest. However, there was nothing wrong with my arm.

My left shoulder was the problem.

Two days ago, a surgeon removed a bullet from it—a bullet put there by a contract killer I encountered on a houseboat while I was investigating the murder of a Pentagon official.

Fortunately, the killer was also shot during our confrontation—his wound was fatal—and shortly after that, due to the quick actions of a member of my investigative team, an ambulance arrived for me.

Within an hour of being transported to the hospital, I was in an operating room, and when I woke up, my colleagues were congratulating me on my good fortune, although a few of them said the good hand of the Lord was upon me.

I agreed with the latter more than the former.

I was the owner of Mylas Grey Investigations in Washington, D. C., a non-government agency specializing in unsolved murders, infidelity, embezzlement, and confidential matters. However, as I cautiously made my way toward the master bathroom, I wasn’t sure I could even take a shower by myself, much less run a PI agency.

That wasn’t how I felt when I arrived home from the hospital yesterday afternoon. In fact, I was feeling so good, I told my housekeeper, Mrs. Higbee, that I planned to go into the office on Monday morning, even though the discharge papers I received from my doctor explicitly stated I was to take seven days off from work and have physical therapy on my shoulder at the Benchmark Rehab Center beginning Monday morning.

When I told her this, she wagged her finger at me. “Now, Mylas, you’re still under the influence of those drugs they gave you in the hospital, so once they wear off, you may need to reconsider that."

Although I didn’t disagree with Mrs. Higbee—I seldom did—I felt sure she was wrong, and to prove how tough I really was, I decided not to take my prescription pain medication before I went to bed.

Now, after it took me an hour to take a shower and get dressed, I briefly considered popping three or four of those pink pills just so I could make it down to breakfast.

Instead, I swallowed two over-the-counter pain relievers, ran a comb through my dark brown hair, and gave my haggard image in the mirror a brief pep talk about the necessity of making it downstairs by eight o’clock. “You can do this,” I said to the barely recognizable image. “Otherwise, you’ll never hear the end of it from Mrs. Higbee.”

Although I owned my six-bedroom residence in Wesley Heights, I’d given Mrs. Higbee carte blanche to run it on her schedule, which meant breakfast was always served at eight o’clock sharp. The exception was on Sundays when she went to an early worship service at her church, and I had to make my own breakfast.

Mrs. Higbee became my housekeeper eight years ago.

It happened immediately after her former employer, Theodore “Mac” McKinney, the owner of the McKinney Law Firm, suffered a fatal heart attack, and I became the sole heir of his estate.

At the time, I was an associate lawyer in Mac’s law firm, and for reasons I didn’t fully understand, he considered me the son he never had. The irony of it was that at the time of his death, I was considering leaving his law firm and starting my own investigative agency.

Although I sold his law firm a year after his passing, I spent six years as an investigator in the office of Senator Davis Allen before I finally decided to launch Mylas Grey Investigations.

That life-changing event happened three weeks ago.

In order to impress my target clientele—members of Congress, heads of other government agencies, and business professionals—I bought a four-story building in a prime location—renaming it the Greystone Center—and hired a crew of top-notch experienced professionals, several of whom had previously worked in congressional offices.

So far, MGI had been a resounding success, and the momentum had only been building since I took my first case, so as I gingerly made my way down the winding staircase to the bottom floor, I made up my mind to take it easy over the weekend so I could drop into my office for a couple of hours each day, despite the doctor’s orders.

My determination wasn’t just the result of the work ethic my parents taught me, it was also because I knew there was no way I could be idle for the next seven days.

Absolutely no way.

* * * * * *

When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I suddenly realized I hadn’t seen Babe all morning.

Babe was my black lab.

Since he always slept downstairs in Mrs. Higbee’s bedroom, I sometimes questioned whether Babe was my dog or her dog, even though he was equally affectionate toward both of us.

Personally, I suspected the reason he slept in her bedroom was because when she got up at six o’clock and let him outside, she always gave him a treat when he came back in, and occasionally, she even slipped him a piece of bacon while she was cooking breakfast.

Once Babe got a treat, he usually headed upstairs to wake me up.

When I arrived in the kitchen, I immediately understood why Babe hadn’t come upstairs. My handyman, an African American named Joe Blondi, was sitting at the breakfast table holding onto Babe’s leash.

It only took me a couple of seconds to realize what was going on, and Mrs. Higbee confirmed it a few seconds later when she said, “Now hold onto him, Joe. I don’t want Babe jumping up on Mylas and sending him back to the hospital.”

I walked over and stroked Babe’s head with my free hand. “You’re not gonna send me back to the hospital, are you, Babe?”

He gave me a big grin, and as soon as I sat down, he began sniffing my sling, running his snout along the edge of it, and even nuzzling it a little.

I nodded at Joe. “Thanks for holding onto him, Joe, but I think Babe knows I’ve been injured, and he’ll be careful around me.”

Joe nodded as he unsnapped Babe’s leash from his collar. “Yeah, he’s pretty smart. When I was changing the oil in my pickup the other day, I asked him to get me a rag, and would you believe he ran over to the bench, picked it up, and brought it back to me?”

I found Joe’s story extraordinary on several levels.

First, Joe and I seldom had an extended conversation about anything, and if we did, he never related an amusing story.

Secondly, when I brought Babe home from the animal shelter five years ago, Joe didn’t want to have anything to do with Babe. Although he didn’t say why he didn’t like having Babe around, I figured it was because he probably had a bad experience with the security dogs he encountered when he was serving time in prison.

Joe was an ex-con, having spent ten years in the Petersburg Federal Penitentiary before Mac finally proved he was innocent of killing a convenience store clerk.

Once Mac was able to get Joe released—after tirelessly working on his case pro bono—Mac hired him as his gardener, as well as his handyman, and when I moved into the house, I asked him to stay on in that same capacity.

When Joe got up from the table, Mrs. Higbee immediately shook her head at him. “No, Joe, sit down and have some breakfast with us.”

Joe had his own kitchen in the apartment he lived in above my garage, so he hardly ever ate a meal in the main house unless Mrs. Higbee invited him in for a special occasion.

I figured she insisted he stay this morning because she wanted to reward him for keeping watch over Babe for her.

I nodded at him. “Yeah, Joe, stick around and have some breakfast with us.”

“Okay, I guess I can do that.” When he sat back down, he motioned toward my arm. “How’s your shoulder this morning?”

“It was a little rough when I first woke up, but I’m feeling a lot better now.” I looked up at Mrs. Higbee as she placed a heaping plate of pancakes on the table. “Once I have a few of those, I’m sure I’ll feel even better.”

Joe and I waited until she returned with two small pitchers of hot syrup—one blueberry, one maple—but as soon as she sat down, and I asked a short blessing on our food, we each placed a big stack on our plates and began devouring them. Meanwhile, Babe lay patiently at my feet, perhaps anticipating my injured limb would make me a messy eater, and a piece of bacon would be coming his way.

Eventually it did, but not because I was a messy eater.

About halfway through our meal, my phone vibrated, but after I took one look at the text message, I quickly put it back in my pocket.

“That wasn’t a message from Whitney, was it?” Mrs. Higbee asked. “I’ll keep your pancakes warm if you need to call her.”

“No, that was a text from the rehab facility reminding me of my appointment on Monday.” I motioned at Joe. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to be my chauffeur until I’m able to drive again.”

He shrugged. “That’s not a problem. I don’t mind taking you wherever you need to go.”

Yesterday, when Joe drove me home from the hospital, he seemed a lot quieter than usual, and after I asked him if something was bothering him, he admitted he had a friend with a problem. When I asked him what the problem was, he said he’d tell me about it later.

I said, “Speaking of problems, Joe, I haven’t forgotten about your friend. Since I can’t go anywhere, I’m available to discuss it with you whenever you’re ready.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess we could do that after breakfast.”

“What friend is that?” Mrs. Higbee asked.

He shook his head. “You don’t know him. He’s someone I met in prison, but we haven’t seen each other in ten years. He called me when he was released on Tuesday, and we had coffee together on Wednesday.”

She rolled her eyes. “He just got out on Tuesday, and he already has a problem?”

Before Joe could respond, my cell phone rang.

This time, it was Whitney.

* * * * * *

I immediately excused myself and walked down the hall to my study—an upscale man cave with bookcases lining one wall, a couple of leather recliners, and a massive desk.

When I shut the door, I said, “I’m sorry I had to put you on hold, but I was still at the breakfast table when you called.”

“Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt your breakfast.”

“No, I was finished eating.”

“I probably should have waited a little longer before I called, but I was anxious to hear how you’re feeling today.”

“I’m glad you did. I was gonna call you in a few minutes anyway.”

Whitney Engel and I had only known each other for the past four months. We’d met when I returned to my hometown of Columbia, Missouri, to investigate the disappearance of Senator Davis Allen’s college-age daughter, Lizzie.

It wasn’t exactly love at first sight when I first laid eyes on Whitney, but it was pretty close.

We were introduced when I stopped by the North Point Community Church in Columbia to see my brother, Curtis, who was the lead pastor there.

When I found out that Whitney was a professional photographer, I asked her to help me decipher some drawings I hoped would help me find Lizzie. Although Whitney was a beautiful woman on the outside, it was her inner beauty that got my attention.

It didn’t take me long to realize the source of that beauty was her faith in Christ. Surprisingly enough, when I told her I wasn’t a believer, it didn’t stop her from discussing her faith with me or from telling me she was praying I would become a believer.

I’d grown somewhat accustomed to that response since Curtis had become a believer when he was in college, and my parents had made their own commitment of faith shortly after he went off to seminary in Texas to become a pastor.

However, I was too preoccupied with my own career to give much thought to Christianity. All that changed after I met Whitney, not only because of her gentle spirit, but also because I realized I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me when a deranged killer was about to end my life, and I thought I was getting ready to take my last breath.

Thankfully, the Lord spared my life at that moment, and shortly after that, I shared my feelings with Whitney, who showed me some verses in the Bible which touched my heart so deeply, I said a prayer confessing my sins and committing my life to follow Christ and his teachings.

In the months since then, I’d been trying to figure out how to live out my newfound faith while exploring where my relationship with Whitney was going. The latter hadn’t been that easy due to the miles separating us and my preoccupation with getting Mylas Grey Investigations up and running.

However, when Whitney came to visit me a couple of weeks ago, she finally made up her mind to move to Washington—with a little persuasion from me—and before she returned to Columbia, not only had she found a house to buy, she’d also accepted an offer from a public relations firm to become their official photographer.

“I’m glad to hear your voice too,” Whitney said. “So tell me how you’re feeling. Are you following your doctor’s orders? I know he told you to take it easy. Are you doing that?”

“Yes, I’m doing everything he said so far. In fact, I was just talking to Joe about driving me to my rehab appointment on Monday.”

“But you’re not planning to go into the office, are you?”

“Well . . . uh . . . I might stop by for a few minutes.”

“I hope that’s all it is—just a few minutes.”

“I’m not making any promises, but I’ll do my best. But forget about me. Tell me what you’ve been doing since you got home.”

“Well, the first thing I did was to contact a realtor friend of mine, and she said she could have my house on the market in a few days. I also called a couple of moving companies to get bids on what it will take to move me to Washington. I have appointments with both of those companies on Monday.”

“Has my mother gotten in touch with you yet?”

“Oh, yes. She called me as soon as you told her not to come to Washington to help you recuperate. According to her, you asked her to stay in Columbia and help me instead.”

“Hmmm. I probably should have told you about that. She wanted to come here and take care of me after my surgery, but I told her you needed her help more than I did. Keep in mind, I was on a bunch of pain medication, and I might not have been thinking clearly.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure Rita will be a big help, and you know I always enjoy being around her.”

“Is that because she makes up stories about all the trouble Curtis and I caused her when we were growing up?”

“Are you sure those are just stories?”

In reality, Curtis and I didn’t get in that much trouble when we were growing up. I had no doubt this was because my father kept us both so busy working for him that we never had any time to misbehave.

My dad was a private detective, the proud owner of the Kelvin Grey Detective Agency, which he started after a ten-year career in the Columbia Police Department. Although he occasionally worked a murder case, most of his business involved marital infidelity, insurance fraud, and embezzlement.

Originally, he planned for Curtis and me to join him in the business after we graduated from college, and to that end, he began teaching us the finer points of how to run an investigation as soon as we were old enough to use a long-range camera.

Despite the fact he told me I was a natural-born investigator, and I wouldn’t be happy if I wasn’t engaged in some type of investigative work, I opted to become a wealthy, high-powered lawyer instead.

As often happened, my dad turned out to be right, although even when he was, he never made a big deal out of it.

I told Whitney, “The only stories you should believe about me are those my dad tells you, but I guarantee you even some of those will sound unbelievable, especially since they involve a teenage boy running surveillance on some not-so-bright people trying to commit insurance fraud.”

She laughed. “Yes, he’s told me a couple of those.”

After promising to call her tomorrow, I hung up and went to find Joe to see if he was ready to tell me about his friend, the ex-con who had a problem.

I admit I was curious about him.

At the very least, I hoped his problem would keep me occupied for the next seven days.

Chapter 2

I found Joe at his workbench in the garage. When he looked up and saw me, he gave me a brief wave, and then he motioned me toward the stool next to him.

“You can sit here, or we can go upstairs to my apartment,” he said, “whichever you think would be easiest on you.”

“I’ll be fine here,” I said, sliding onto the padded metal stool.

He nodded as he looked down at what appeared to be the parts of a bathroom faucet handle.

“I didn’t realize you were also a plumber, Joe. What are you working on?”

“Nah, I’m not really a plumber, but I can do the basic stuff. This is one of the faucet handles from the bathroom in the Princess Room. Mrs. Higbee said it was leaking when she was cleaning the sink after Miss Whitney left yesterday. All I’m doing is replacing the worn-out washer in it.”

Mrs. Higbee had names for all the upstairs bedrooms based on their décor, and since the room where Whitney stayed had a large canopy bed in it—which reminded Mrs. Higbee of a fairytale that involved a princess—she had named it the Princess Room.

Joe looked down at the parts of the handle for a couple of seconds. After a brief nod of his head, he said, “I might as well just tell you about Lenny’s problem the same way he told me about it, and then you can tell me what you think I should tell him to do.”

“That sounds like the way to go. So your friend’s name is Lenny?”

“Uh-huh. Lenny Dilbeck. He just finished serving a fifteen-year sentence for armed robbery. He and his uncle robbed a bank when Lenny was only eighteen, and as they were leaving, the security guard pulled a gun on them. His uncle shot and killed the guard, so they both got a stiff sentence, even though Lenny didn’t have a gun. His uncle was twenty years older than him, and he died of lung cancer in prison last year.”

“So Lenny’s thirty-three now. It sounds like his uncle was about your age.”

“That’s right, but he wasn’t in the same cell block with Lenny and me, so maybe that’s why Lenny and I became friends. He kinda treated me like a father.”

“Have you and Lenny stayed in touch since you’ve been out?”

“Oh, yeah, we’ve been writing letters to each other once a month, and he always calls me on Christmas Day every year.”

“I’m sure he was happy to see you.”

“Yeah, but he’s still trying to adjust to being on the outside. Right now, he’s living in an apartment at a transitional housing complex called Samaritan’s Village.”

I nodded. “I know about Samaritan’s Village. It’s an apartment complex run by a non-profit group for those who’ve been recently incarcerated. I was there once when I was an associate lawyer with Mac’s law firm. I believe Lenny can stay there for six weeks, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s not worried about that right now. What he’s worried about is something that happened the day before he was released. He doesn’t know what he should do about it, and I told him I’d ask your advice and get back to him.”

I shrugged. “Sure, I’ll be glad to help if I can.”

“Okay, so here’s what he told me. On Monday evening, as he was in his cell packing up his things to leave the next day, he realized he had two books from the prison library that he needed to return. Since he was a trustee assigned to the library, he was able to get in after hours, but when he got there, he was surprised to find the door was unlocked, and there were lights on at the back of the library. When he went inside, he immediately heard two men talking in the back workroom.”

Joe paused a second and took a drink from an insulated coffee mug.

When he put it down on his workbench, he reached over and picked up one of the washers he was using to repair the faucet.

As he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, he said, “Lenny recognized the voice of one of the men as a trustee who also worked in the library. I think he said his name was Diego, but I’m not sure. My memory’s not as good as it used to be.”

“I understand. Take your time.” I smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Anyway, he didn’t recognize the other guy’s voice, so he decided to use the book stacks as cover and get closer to the workroom. He discovered Diego was inside the workroom, and the other guy was standing in the doorway. He immediately recognized him as a new inmate named Raul Hernandez, who’d just arrived Monday morning. He said the way the guys were talking, it was obvious they knew each other from the outside.”

Joe stopped and thought for a few seconds before he continued.

“Okay, so here’s the part that bothered Lenny: He heard Diego ask Raul what he meant during dinner when he said he knew where the police could find the missing woman.”

“The missing woman?”

“Uh-huh. That’s the reason Lenny is so worried. Raul was talking about Cassandra.”

“You mean Cassandra Simmons, the woman who’s been on the news the past several days?”

He nodded. “Raul claimed his boss killed her, and that he and another guy buried her at one of his construction sites.”

I was stunned. “So does Lenny know who Raul’s boss is?”

“He thinks it might be Frosty Fasano because that’s the guy Diego worked for before he got busted for stealing cars.”

“I’ve heard that name before. I think he’s a real estate developer here in D. C.”

“So Lenny doesn’t know if he should tell the police about what he overheard or not. What do you think?”

I took a deep breath. “That’s really hard to say. I suppose Raul could have been making the whole thing up just so he could have some cred with Diego. Do you think that’s possible?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Did Lenny say why Raul was in a federal prison?”

He shook his head. “Is that important?”

“Well, if he really had something to do with Cassandra’s death, and she just went missing ten days ago, then the timing isn’t right. If he was arrested within the last ten days—for whatever reason—he would have been taken to the D. C. Detention Facility. He wouldn’t have been sent to Petersburg Federal Prison right away.”

He frowned. “I don’t really know the answer to that. Maybe Lenny would know.”

I looked up at the ceiling a minute. “Okay, here’s what I think we should do. Call Lenny and see if he would mind talking to me face to face. In fact, if you can get in touch with him right away, I’ll be happy to take you and Lenny to lunch today.”

He pulled out his phone. “Okay, I’ll give him a call.”

* * * * * *

After Lenny said he would meet us at the Little River Grill at eleven-thirty—which I chose because it was within walking distance of where he was living in Samaritan’s Village—I went back inside the house to do some research on Cassandra Simmons before we left.

Although I remembered seeing several stories about her on the news while Whitney was here, I didn’t pay much attention to what the reporters were saying about the missing woman.

Now, as I sat down at my desk and began researching her name—pecking on the keyboard with just my right hand—I briefly considered giving Nina Rivers a call and asking her to help me out.

Nina was my go-to person at MGI for background profiles, data analysis, and informational research. Her official title was Investigative Research Analyst, a position she’d held in Senator Davis Allen’s congressional office before I lured her away with more money.

I’d been willing to pay her anything she asked because of her skill at ferreting out the most secret details of a person’s life, not to mention her persistence at analyzing surveillance data, scanning public records, and wading through social media posts.

However, since it was Saturday, and I knew Nina spent most Saturdays with her grandkids, I decided to see what I could find out about Cassandra Simmons on my own.

As often happened when the media turned the spotlight on a missing person, there was a plethora of information about her in dozens of news stories. One of the headlines in the print media was “Who is Cassandra Simmons?” Another one was “Red Shield Academy Counselor Missing.”

I quickly learned that Cassandra Simmons held the position of academic counselor at a private high school for at-risk youth called the Red Shield Academy. When I looked up the high school, I found an impressive website with a mission statement that read, “Our mission is to provide a safe and nurturing environment for students who have faced significant challenges in their lives by offering a wide range of programs designed to address both academic and personal development needs, including advanced placement courses, vocational training, counseling services, and extracurricular activities aimed at fostering leadership and community involvement.”

I also learned the Red Shield Academy was funded not only by federal grants which had been specifically allocated for at-risk youth, but also by several corporations, businesses, and community services.

There were plenty of details about Cassandra in news reports too.

I saw at least three separate photographs of Cassandra, but the one the media seemed to favor showed a petite, thirty-something blonde with an attractive smile standing at a corner of the academy’s building pointing at the school’s insignia—a red shield.

After reading an in-depth article on her by one of the national newspapers, I learned she had joined the faculty of the Red Shield Academy a year ago, after having been a counselor in the public school system for the past ten years.

I also found out she was single, lived with her mother—who had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer—and volunteered as a tutor at a community center on Saturdays.

After doing the research on her, I completely understood why the media had featured her on the news for several days. Not only was she a photogenic subject, she had a compelling story.

But there was a third reason—the circumstances surrounding her disappearance were very puzzling.

According to police reports, Cassandra had simply vanished without a trace on January 11 after working in her counseling office at the Red Shield Academy the entire day. The custodian was the last person to see her in her office at four-fifteen, and he reported she told him she was leaving in five minutes.

Supposedly, there were security cameras in the parking lot, but the police had yet to report if she was seen in any of them.

Cassandra lived in the northeast section of the capital in the Hillcrest area, and she commuted back and forth to the Red Shield Academy on the Metro each day. Although she owned a car, she seldom drove to work.

Her mother, Kathleen Simmons, called the police and reported her missing at nine-thirty on the evening of January 11. She was quoted in one of the articles as saying, “Cassandra always called me if she was going to be later than five-thirty, unless she had already told me she was going somewhere after work. I waited to call the police until nine-thirty, since I thought I could have just forgotten she was going somewhere.”

The police set up a hotline for anyone to call with information regarding Cassandra’s disappearance, but now, eleven days later, I couldn’t find a single news outlet that was even hinting the police had any idea of what had happened to her.

As I was making notes about what I’d found, my phone vibrated. The ID on my screen said my caller was Kyle Ford, which brought a smile to my face.

In light of what I’d just read about Cassandra, I realized he was just the person I should talk to before speaking to Joe’s friend.

Ford, a former homicide detective with the DC Police, was the newest member of my staff. In fact, his first day on the job would be this coming Monday. He was one of two associate investigators at MGI, and one of the reasons I decided to hire him was because I figured his background in law enforcement would be an asset to the agency.

As soon as I said hello, he asked, “How are you this morning? Were you able to get out of bed?”

“Just barely, but I managed.”

“Are you in much pain?”

“Nah. It’s barely noticeable. I was tempted to pop a couple of pain pills, but I just took some acetaminophen, and I’m good to go now.”

“Well, I hope you’re speaking figuratively, and you’re not going anywhere. Didn’t the doc tell you to stay home and get some rest?”

“Uh . . . yeah, more or less, but I think he just told me that so I wouldn’t be tempted to drive myself anywhere.”

“I was just calling to see if you needed anything. I’d offer to bring you some lunch, but I suppose your housekeeper’s got that covered.”

“Yes, she does, but thanks for the offer. You might be able to help me with something else, though.”

“Sure. What’s that?”

“I have a handyman that lives in the apartment above my garage. He’s an ex-con that Mac got released from prison after proving he was falsely accused of murdering a convenience store clerk, and he—”

“Oh, yeah. I know who you mean. His name’s Blondi, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Joe Blondi. Today, he told me about a friend of his, Lenny Dilbeck, who was released from Petersburg on Tuesday, and according to Joe, he may have some information on Cassandra Simmons, that missing woman from the Red Shield Academy.”

“Are you kidding? What kind of information?”

“Lenny claims he overheard a recent arrival and an inmate at Petersburg talking about her, but personally, I’m a little skeptical about what he says he overheard, so I’m planning to take him to lunch today—Joe’s gonna drive me—and ask him some questions. Do you happen to know if the police have any leads on her yet?”

“The last I heard, the investigation was stalled. One of the detectives assigned to the case told me they were taking a closer look at the school janitor, since he was the last person to see her.”

“What about any video from the security cameras in the parking lot? Have they been analyzed yet?”

“For some reason, the surveillance system was offline, and there’s no visual evidence of when she left the building.”

“Is that one of the reasons they’re taking a look at the janitor?”

“I hadn’t heard that, but it makes sense.”

“Maybe I’ll know more after I talk to Lenny.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Like I said, Joe’s gonna drive me over there, and to be frank, I don’t think the guy would talk if I brought someone with me. I’m not even sure he’ll talk to me.”

“Yeah, probably not. Do me a favor, though, and let me know what he has to say once you talk to him.”

“Sure, I’ll give you a call later.”

“Come to think of it, maybe you better wait and call me tomorrow. I’m taking Leslie to a Washington Wizards basketball game at the Arena tonight.”

Leslie Irving, who was single, was my other associate investigator at MGI. She’d shown an interest in Ford, a recent widower, from the moment I’d introduced them, but since she treated dating as her major form of entertainment, I wasn’t sure how serious she was.

“Oh, uh . . . okay. I’ll give you a call tomorrow then.”

“That’ll work. Of course, if you happen to learn anything about Cassandra that requires immediate attention, then I’m sure you’ll call the DC Police. The lead detective who’s handling her case is Sarah Welch. I believe her extension is 252.”

“Oh, you bet. I’ll give Detective Welch a call if it’s urgent. Thanks, Kyle. I hope you and Leslie have a good time tonight.”

“I’m sure we will. I’m a big Wizards fan, and when Leslie and I were waiting for you to get out of surgery, she happened to mention someone had given her two tickets, so when she asked me if I wanted to go with her, you can bet I said yes.”

Leslie wasn’t a sports fan, so I didn’t believe she’d been given Wizards tickets. More than likely, she’d done some research on Ford and determined the way to his heart was through a basketball hoop.

Leslie’s creativity was one of the reasons I’d asked her to join my agency, but it wasn’t the only reason. After working at the Bowman Detective Agency for several years, she had an impressive resume, and while it hadn’t been the deciding factor, she was also a vivacious, attractive woman with a unique sense of style.

That style even extended to her leopard-print gun holster, and as I was thinking about that, I remembered I hadn’t put on my gun holster or retrieved my gun from my nightstand when I got dressed.

However, when I went up to my bedroom, I decided to carry my Glock 26, my “Baby Glock,” instead of my Glock 17, since I figured it would be easier to shoot one-handed.

Despite switching them out, it was obvious if a situation called for me to handle a weapon, I wouldn’t be at my best and might end up taking another bullet.

I certainly wasn’t expecting that type of scenario during lunch with Lenny Dilbeck, but then I wasn’t expecting to get shot on the houseboat either.

As my dad used to tell me, “Expectations are like glass; they shatter easily, and afterward, you’re left to pick up the pieces.”

Chapter 3

Although Joe ordinarily drove my older Mercedes—a vehicle I inherited from Mac—I insisted he drive us over to meet Lenny in my own car, an Audi A8.

He didn’t object, and in fact, as he merged into traffic on the freeway, I got the distinct impression he was enjoying being behind the wheel of the Audi.

On the way over there, I asked him to tell me a little more about Lenny so I’d have a better idea of how to get him to open up to me.

“I don’t think he’ll mind talking to you. He’s a really smart kid. He even got his college degree while he was inside.”

“What was his major?”

“I’m not sure—something to do with art. I know he likes to draw, and he’s pretty good at it.”

By the time I found out that Lenny didn’t have any family, and that he was undecided about where he was going to live or what kind of job he might get, we were pulling up to the Little River Grill.

As Joe was parking the car, he gestured toward the entrance where a young African American male was looking around nervously.

“There’s Lenny. It looks like he’s waiting for us.”

Lenny was dressed in a blue pullover shirt and a pair of jeans. Both of them looked new, as did the black athletic shoes he was wearing.

When he saw Joe getting out of the car, he appeared to relax, and once the two men greeted each other, he offered me his hand.

“Hi, my name’s Lenny Dilbeck. You must be Mylas Grey.”

“That’s right,” I said, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Lenny. I’m looking forward to having lunch with you.”

He nodded. “Thanks for inviting me.”

After the hostess greeted us, I asked her if we could have a corner booth—hinting we needed to have a private conversation—and she led us over to the last booth by a window.

It was a perfect spot, and as Lenny slid into one side of the booth with Joe, I thanked the hostess and slipped her a ten-dollar bill.

She smiled as she took it, so I was pretty sure she would try to make sure no one was seated around us.

As I was maneuvering my way into the booth, trying to keep from bumping my arm, Lenny gestured toward my sling. “What happened to you? Did you get in a fight?”

“Yeah, a gunfight. I just had a bullet taken out of my shoulder.”

“Ahh,” he said, nodding his head. “Joe said you were taking a few days off from work, but he didn’t tell me you’d been shot.”

“I would characterize it as a work-related incident, and the person who shot me wasn’t as fortunate as I was.”

Our conversation ended when the waitress came to take our orders, and once she left, I decided to wait until she returned with our food before I brought up the purpose of our lunch. Instead, I asked Lenny what kind of job he was looking for.

“I received a college degree in graphic design while I was in Petersburg, so I’d like to work in that field. The social worker at Samaritan’s Village is trying to get me some interviews, and she’s also helping me find a permanent apartment and get some wheels.”

Joe was quiet while the two of us were talking, but by the way he kept glancing over at me to see my reaction as Lenny was answering my questions, it was obvious he was pleased at how well his friend was conducting himself.

I admit I was impressed with the young man, which made it a lot easier to believe what he told me after we got our food, and I asked him to go over what he told Joe on Wednesday.

It was basically the same story Joe told me about Lenny arriving in the library and hearing the two men talking at the back, then sneaking behind the stacks so he could hear what they were saying.

After he finished, I was anxious to see how he would react when I grilled him. “Why didn’t you want them to know you were there?”

He dipped one of his French fries in ketchup and said, “Because Diego’s always had a beef with me, and he likes to pick fights, and that’s the last thing I wanted the night before I was about to get out.”

“Then why didn’t you just leave your books at the front and return to your cell without seeing who Diego was talking to?”

“Yeah, that’s what I should have done, but I was acting on the same instinct that helped me survive in the Yard these past fifteen years.”

He briefly glanced over at Joe, who was nodding his head, and then he continued. “Knowing who’s who and what’s what is the only way anyone makes it in prison. Inmates who don’t find out what’s going on will be at the mercy of those who do.”

“Okay, I get that.” I took a long drink of my iced tea to give Lenny a chance to say something else, and when he didn’t, I asked, “So tell me what you know about Raul Hernandez.”

“I can tell you the rumors I’ve heard, but that’s all I know.”

“That’s fine. Go ahead.”

“I heard that Raul was out on parole after serving time at Petersburg for burglary, and when he arrived on Monday, the buzz around the Yard was that he was arrested for burglary again on January 13. At his hearing, the judge immediately ordered him back to Petersburg for violating his parole.”

I pulled out my phone to check my calendar, and the notes I’d made on Cassandra’s disappearance. “Okay, that makes sense. Cassandra disappeared on January 11, and if Raul wasn’t arrested until January 13, then he could be telling the truth about being involved in her disappearance.”

Lenny said, “I assure you, he sounded like he knew what he was talking about.”

“And do you think Diego believed him?”

“Uh-huh, I do, and when Raul said his boss killed her, Diego didn’t ask him who his boss was. That’s why I think Raul was talking about Frosty Fasano.”

“Was that the extent of the conversation? Did Raul say anything about the motive for the killing, or how his boss knew Cassandra?”

He shook his head. “No, not a thing, but maybe they talked about it after I left. I got out of there pretty quick once I heard that.”

“Did you give any thought to talking to someone at the prison about what you’d overheard?”

He looked down at his plate for a few seconds. “No, not really. Knowing when to keep my mouth shut was another thing I learned. I just sorta put it at the back of my mind and told myself I’d deal with it when I got out. That’s why I asked Joe what I should do.”

Joe spoke up. “I didn’t know what to tell him because I was afraid the police might not believe him. They might think he was just trying to get revenge on someone now that he’s been released.”

“That’s possible,” I said, “but I have some contacts at the DC Police, so I could talk to them and see what they think about this. Would you like for me to do that?”

“Uh-huh, I’d like that, except . . .” He paused as if he was unsure about how to say something. “Uh . . . I wouldn’t want word to get back to Frosty that I was accusing him of murder. From the things Diego has said about him, he doesn’t sound like someone who’d overlook something like that.”

“I have resources I can use to find out more about Frosty and probably Raul too, so I may do some digging before I contact the police. From what I understand right now, they don’t have any idea what happened to Cassandra, and frankly, it’s hard for me to see how she and Frosty might be connected.”

Joe said, “So you’ll keep Lenny’s name out of anything until you figure out if Raul could be telling the truth?”

When I told him yes, both men looked relieved.

As Joe drove me back to the house, I told him how impressed I was with Lenny, and that I was hopeful I’d be able to help him figure out what to do.

“I sorta expected you would, but I hope it won’t be too hard on you. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I admit my shoulder’s talking to me right now.”

“Are you done for the day, or do you need me to drive you somewhere else?”

“I think I’m done, Joe.”

Except I wasn’t really done.

I had to find out what happened to Cassandra Simmons.

* * * * * *

After we got back to my house, I sat down at my computer and typed up my notes from my visit with Lenny.

As I was reading them over, I got a text from Nina. “Are you up to having a visitor? I’m twenty minutes away from your house right now.”

I texted her back that I’d be happy to see her, and in exactly twenty minutes, I saw her car on the security monitor as she pulled up to my gate. Once I pressed the button on the security console, and the gate lifted, she drove up the driveway and parked in the circle drive.

When I met her at the front door, she had a rectangular box covered in gold foil in her hand, and after I invited her inside, she handed it to me.

“I know Mrs. Higbee probably fixes you incredible desserts all the time,” she said, “but I doubt if she could make chocolate truffles as delicious as these. Besides, there are studies that show eating dark chocolate every day is as beneficial as taking certain medications.”

Nina’s idea of entertainment was to read reports, study data, and immerse herself in all kinds of statistics, but she seldom left it there. Everything she took in, she also shared with others—especially me—whenever she had an opportunity.

“Well, thank you, Nina. I can’t wait to try some of this medication.”

Babe, who was sitting at my side, started sniffing at the box in my hand, and after Nina reached out and patted him on the head, she said, “Don’t worry, Babe. I didn’t forget about you.”

She stuck her hand in her shoulder bag and pulled out a rawhide bone, which Babe quickly took in his mouth and ran toward the den, as if Nina might change her mind and take it away from him.

Nina had two dogs of her own, so her gesture didn’t surprise me.

I pointed over toward my study. “Let’s go in here and sit down, and I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing.”

Nina glared at me with her penetrating blue eyes. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be doing anything.”

When I gave her a mischievous grin, she said, “Right. What was I thinking? Of course, you’ve been doing something.”

As I was directing her over to an armchair, Mrs. Higbee came in and asked Nina if she’d like something to drink.

“Is it too much trouble to fix me a cup of coffee? I just take it black.”

“It’s no trouble at all. How about you, Mylas?”

“That sounds good to me too.”

“Two coffees coming right up.”

As we sat down across from each other, Nina motioned toward me and said, “You look tired. Were you able to sleep last night?”

“Yes, I slept fine, but I think the pain relievers I took when I first got up this morning are wearing off, plus I admit I just got home from having lunch with a friend of Joe’s.”

“Your handyman? What was that about?”

“If I tell you, I know you’ll be curious, and then you’ll wanna help me get some answers.”

Since Nina was ten years my senior, she often scolded me like I was her younger brother, which she proceeded to do by wagging her finger at me and saying, “You know there’s no way I’m leaving here now without you telling me about your lunch. So start talking, Mister.”

“Okay, since you twisted my arm, I guess I’ll have to tell you.”

Once Mrs. Higbee came in with two mugs of coffee for us, plus a plate of cookies, I told Nina about my conversation with Lenny, what I’d learned from news reports about Cassandra, and the details Ford had given me about the police investigation.

I could tell she was mesmerized by this information because she ate two cookies and drank a full mug of coffee while I was telling her.

“Shall I have Mrs. Higbee bring you a refill?” I asked.

She appeared to be surprised when she looked down at her empty cup. “No, that’s fine. I don’t need any more caffeine.”

“So what do you think?”

She glanced over at my bookshelves for a second. “I think that’s a fascinating story, and you’re gonna want some immediate answers.”

“Right. There’s no point in getting the police involved until I know more about Frosty Fasano and Raul Hernandez. I also need to know their connection to Cassandra, and of course, I need to—”

“I can find out what you need to know about Frosty and Raul. That’s right up my alley.”

I smiled. “Well, if you insist. I also need to know more about the Red Shield Academy, since that’s where Cassandra worked, and the last place she was seen.”

“Yes, of course, that’s a given. I’ll do that too.”

“If your research doesn’t turn up an obvious connection between Frosty and Cassandra, then I may need to make an appointment to see Cassandra’s mother.”

“Since you’re not with the DC Police, and you’re not a reporter, that could be a little tricky.”

I nodded as I placed my coffee mug on a side table. “Yes, I realize that, but I’ll figure something out.”

“Now it’s my turn to ask you what you think about Lenny’s story. What’s your gut telling you? Or, as your dad calls it, your visceral intuition.”

“I’m sorry to say my visceral intuition is telling me that Cassandra Simmons is dead, and I also think there’s a good chance Raul knows something about how she died. Otherwise, it’s hard to understand why he would bring up the subject with Diego.”

"I recently read an article that said eighty-seven percent of individuals who commit a serious crime feel compelled to confess it to someone within forty-eight hours. This phenomenon is said to be a universal deep-seated psychological need for human beings to be understood and forgiven.”

“I’d say that’s a universal human need, all right.”

She stood to her feet. “Another human need is for the body to get plenty of rest after undergoing surgery, so I’m gonna leave now so you can do that. Would you like to hear the statistics about the number of patients who have to be readmitted to the hospital after surgery because they don’t take care of themselves?”

“Uh . . . no, that’s not necessary. I don’t plan to do anything the rest of the day except read a book.”

“I like the sound of that. Keep in mind, it’s gonna take me a while to dig up this stuff on these guys and the Red Shield Academy, so don’t expect to hear from me until late tomorrow or even Monday.”

Whenever Nina was doing research for me, she usually let me know as soon as she found anything interesting, so I figured she was just trying to force me to take it easy.

That wasn’t necessary.

After she left, I went upstairs, took two more pain relievers, and sat down on the couch in the Library—the identifying moniker Mrs. Higbee had given the upstairs living area—but seconds after I picked up the spy novel I had started a few weeks ago, I dozed off.

However, just before I fell asleep, I suddenly had an idea about how I might be able to interview Cassandra’s mother.

It wasn’t a great idea, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.

Chapter 4

Sunday, January 23

When Babe and I came downstairs Sunday morning, I was amazed at how much better I felt than when I woke up on Saturday morning. While I was still stiff and a little achy, I wasn’t asking myself if I was going to be able to make it through the day.

As usual, Mrs. Higbee—who had already left to attend her early morning church service—had written me a note about what I could fix myself for breakfast.

First, she suggested I warm up the cinnamon rolls she had left on the counter for me, and second, she noted I could have a bowl of granola—she’d set the granola container out on the counter, along with a bowl and a spoon.

Lastly, she encouraged me to eat a carton of blueberry yogurt, which she pointed out I could find in the refrigerator.

I did the first two and skipped the last—I wasn’t a fan of yogurt—and after I ate, I opened the box of truffles Nina had left for me and ended my “self-prepared” breakfast with some dark chocolate.

For Babe’s part, along with his regular dog food, he seemed content to have a couple of slices of ham I found in a container next to the yogurt, although we both agreed it might be best to keep his treat a secret from Mrs. Higbee.

After putting my dishes in the dishwasher, I texted Joe to let him know I’d be ready to leave for church in twenty minutes, and he immediately texted me back that he’d meet me in the driveway.

Last night, when I talked to him about driving me to church, he asked if it would be okay if we left early enough for him to make it to his own church where he was an usher.

Naturally, I assured him that wasn’t a problem, and then I told him he didn’t need to give me a ride home, since I could get Nathan Lockett to drop me off.

Lockett was Senator Davis Allen’s chief of staff, and a person I considered one of my best friends, although our relationship had a bit of a rocky start when I first joined Senator Allen’s staff as his chief investigator.

One reason we weren’t on the same page was how open Lockett was about his Christian faith—he even kept a Bible on his desk in his office—plus, he wasn’t shy about inviting me to go to church with him and his wife, Diana, even though he knew I wasn’t a believer.

Another reason we clashed was that I had a laid-back leadership style, whereas his way of handling things was more regimented—heavily influenced by his twenty-year career in the military.

However, once we figured out how to work together, and I also embraced Christianity, then Lockett and I became good friends. I even joined the Grace Fellowship Church in Ashton Heights where Lockett and Diana were members.

When I was shot on Thursday, Lockett had been in St. Louis campaigning with Senator Allen—who was the senior senator from Missouri—so when I entered the lobby of the Grace Fellowship Church and strolled over to where he and Diana were standing, he took one look at my arm sling and immediately asked, “What happened to you?”

“It’s a long story, but if you let me take you and Diana to lunch, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Diana smiled. “No cooking for me. I like that idea.”

“Could you also give me a ride home afterward?” I asked.

Lockett shook his head. “No, we can’t do that. We have somewhere else we need to be.” He grinned. “Sure, we’ll be glad to take you home. You did say you were paying for our meal, didn’t you?”

As we were walking into the church’s sanctuary, he asked, “Your injury isn’t related to the shooting down at The Wharf, is it?”

It didn’t surprise me that Lockett was trying to piece together the scenario of what might have happened to me. Not only had his career in the Air Force been in military intelligence, he’d also been friends with the Pentagon official whose death I was investigating when I got shot.

“As a matter of fact, it was,” I said. “That’s what happens when you leave me alone in this town.”

After we took our seats, he said, “I don’t suppose you could give me a brief synopsis of what happened before the worship service starts, could you?”

I looked at him. “Seriously?”

He shrugged. “Just checking.”

* * * * * *

We had lunch at Leonardo’s, an Italian restaurant not far from the church, and once our entrées arrived, I went over the details of what happened to me on Thursday.

When I finished, Lockett encouraged me to take it easy for a few days, although he said he knew that would be especially hard for me since I’d just launched Mylas Grey Investigations.

Diana agreed. “I’m sure you’re just like Nathan, and you have to stay busy.” She reached over and patted her husband’s hand a couple of times. “Otherwise, you might get in trouble.”

“I won’t have much time to get in trouble since I have to be in rehab several days this week,” I said, “and as for staying busy, I’m gonna be doing some research for an ex-con who’s a friend of Joe’s, so I have a feeling that’ll keep me busy until I get back to the office.”

Lockett gestured toward me. “Hold on. You can’t just leave us hanging like that. What kind of research are you doing for an ex-con?”

“I’m sure you’ve both seen the news about Cassandra Simmons, the missing counselor from the Red Shield Academy.” When they both nodded, I said, “Joe’s friend, who was released from Petersburg a few days ago, overheard a couple of inmates talking about Cassandra, and one of the inmates claimed Frosty Fasano, the real estate developer, killed her.”

They both looked shocked.

Lockett said, “I didn’t know the police had found her body.”

“No, they haven’t, and that’s why I need to do some more research to see if there’s a connection between Fasano and Cassandra before I talk to them. I’ve already asked Nina to see what she can turn up on Fasano as well as the Red Shield Academy.”

“If Nina’s looking into it, then you should get some answers pretty quick.” Lockett took a drink of his soda, and then he gestured at me. “Come to think of it, you might remind her that Senator Allen was appointed to a Senate committee charged with looking into irregularities in educational grants, and that one of the names that came up in his investigation was the Red Shield Academy.”

“She didn’t say anything about that yesterday, but I’ll remind her when I see her tomorrow. What committee is that?”

“It’s called the Senate Oversight Committee for Education Grants, but the senator’s legislative staff usually refers to it as the OCEG committee.”

“Do you remember what the outcome of their investigation was?”

“It’s an ongoing committee, and it’s still in the process of putting together a report. I haven’t seen or heard anything about it since before the Christmas break, but if Nina needs more information about it, have her call me, and I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Diana said, “I’ve just been praying they’ll find that young woman alive somewhere.”

I nodded. “And maybe that’s the case. This Hernandez guy may have just been bragging to make himself look important.”

“Let’s hope so,” Lockett said, “but personally, I doubt if he would bring up her name if he didn’t know something about her disappearance.”

Unfortunately, I had to agree with him.

* * * * * *

When I got home, Mrs. Higbee was watching an NFL divisional playoff game between the Dallas Cowboys—her favorite team—and the San Francisco 49ers.

“Why don’t you sit down and watch the game with me?” she said. “It’s gonna be an exciting game. I think you’ll like it.”

Although she knew I was an ardent Kansas City Chiefs fan, she never missed an opportunity to try to persuade me to share her love of the Cowboys, so I decided to sit down and watch the game with her, even though I was planning to call Kyle Ford and update him on my meeting with Lenny.

I figured Ford could wait, and since Whitney was also a fan of the Cowboys, I knew she’d be happy to hear I’d watched her team win.

On the other hand, since their quarterback threw an interception as soon as I sat down on the couch, I realized I might need to console her when the Cowboys lost.

As it turned out, the Cowboys won by a field goal, which was amusing, since the same kicker, who almost cost them the game the week before, was being praised by Mrs. Higbee as a hero now.

“Wasn’t he amazing?” she said. “I really believe we’re going all the way to the Super Bowl.”

If that happened, and the Cowboys played the Chiefs and beat them, I had a feeling I’d have to leave my house for a week.

However, I put that thought out of my head and gave Ford a call.

“Hi, Kyle. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Yeah, I’m just sitting here waiting for the next playoff game to start. Did you watch that Cowboys game?”

“Uh-huh. My housekeeper’s a big fan, and I was afraid if I didn’t watch it with her, I might be eating soup all week.”

He chuckled a little, and then he asked, “How did your lunch with the ex-con go?”

“I found him to be very credible, so I’m inclined to believe what he told me.”

After giving him the gist of my conversation with Lenny, I ended my explanation by asking him a question. “Do the names Frosty Fasano and Raul Hernandez ring a bell with you?”

“Fasano does. He’s a real estate entrepreneur who’s made millions buying property in rundown neighborhoods and then developing them into affordable housing.”

“That certainly doesn’t sound like someone who’s a killer.”

“No, but Frosty also has a reputation for skating on the fringes of the law. I know he’s been investigated for fraud before. And I think there was an assault and battery charge too.”

“I have Nina doing a deep dive into his profile, so I’m confident I’ll know all about him by tomorrow. I’ve also asked her to see what she can find out about the Red Shield Academy.”

“After we talked yesterday, I remembered my partner and I visited the high school a few years ago to inform a teenage boy that his mother was the victim of a double homicide. It seemed like a typical high school, except the halls weren’t as crowded, and all the students had computers on their desks.”

“Yes, that’s what a federal grant will do for your institution. When I had lunch today with Senator Allen’s chief of staff, Nathan Lockett, and I mentioned the Red Shield Academy, he told me there’s a congressional committee looking into how grant money is being used by educational facilities, and the Red Shield Academy is one of the schools they’re investigating.”

“Are you thinking their investigation is connected to Cassandra’s disappearance?”

“No, I’d be surprised if it had anything to do with it, but you never know. As I’ve mentioned before, I follow the Kelvin Grey investigative method, which consists of collecting as many puzzle pieces as possible before attempting to put them together.”

“Well, you and I have something in common then. That’s basically the way I operate too.”

“Yeah, I figured that, which is why I’m looking forward to working with you. By the way, I’m really sorry, but I have to be at my therapy session in the morning, and I won’t be at the Greystone Center to officially welcome you to our agency. I’ll have to let Leslie do those honors.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I already feel welcomed. Leslie’s made sure of that.”

“Did the two of you enjoy the Wizards game last night?”

“Oh, yeah, we had excellent seats, and it was a great game. I found out Leslie only recently became interested in basketball, and she doesn’t know that much about it, but I think she enjoyed herself.”

He sounded a little tentative about whether Leslie enjoyed herself, but I decided not to go there. Instead I said, “I have one last question for you, and it has to do with the lead detective on Cassandra’s missing person’s case.”

“Are you talking about Sarah Welch?”

“That’s right. Do you think she’s open to talking to private investigators in an unofficial capacity about her cases?”

“I’ll have to think about that a second.”

“That probably means she isn’t.”

“Let’s just say Sarah doesn’t mind cooperating if the investigator is acting on behalf of the family of the victim.”

“In other words, if I wanted to talk to her about Cassandra’s case, I would need to have some standing with her family.”

“Correct. You’ll definitely get more information out of her if you approach her from that standpoint.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

“It sounds like you’re planning to talk to Cassandra’s mother.”

“That’s right. I’m working on a plan to do that.”

“Care to share it with me?”

“Uh . . . no, I haven’t gotten all the details figured out yet.”

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure he’d approve of the details.

Chapter 5

Monday, January 24

My appointment with the Benchmark Rehab Center was scheduled for ten o’clock, so immediately after breakfast, I went out to the garage and talked to Joe about when we should leave.

After we settled on nine-fifteen, I went back inside to watch the morning news, but before I could do that, I got a text from Nina. “I’ll be calling you in five minutes. If that’s not okay, text me back.”

By the time I’d grabbed a second cup of coffee and walked into my study, my phone was vibrating. “Good morning, Nina.”

“Are you prepared to be amazed?”

Nina was very good at what she did, but she also liked for others to acknowledge how good she was. If I praised her on a regular basis, she continued to perform at a high level, but if my admiration for all her hard work wasn’t forthcoming, the results diminished.

To that end, I made sure to keep the kudos flowing.

“I’m always prepared to be amazed when you take on an assignment,” I said.

“And well you should be.” She paused a moment. “You can take notes if you want, but I’ll be putting everything I’m about to tell you in an email to you when I’m finished.”

“Then I’ll just listen and let you dazzle me with your expertise.”

“I’ll start with Feliz Fasano, better known as Frosty Fasano, and then I’ll tell you what I found out about the Red Shield Academy. I haven’t had time to look into Raul Hernandez yet.”

“That’s okay. I’m mainly interested in Fasano and the Academy.”

Nina briefly went through what I’d already heard about Fasano—he was a real estate developer who revitalized poorer neighborhoods by building affordable housing units. Then she told me two things I didn’t know about Fasano: He partnered with community leaders in his projects, and he used his resources to help underprivileged youth.

“He certainly sounds like an upstanding citizen,” I said.

“That’s the persona Frosty presents to the public,” she said, “but when I started digging into how he’s made his money, I got a little different picture.”

“Okay, so draw that picture for me.”

“The way he finances these projects is primarily through government funds and private donations, which isn’t illegal of course, but I came across an article from a government watchdog organization that hinted he was inflating property values, scamming the federal grant program, and generally misrepresenting the financial status of the projects to obtain loans and secure donations.”

“Obviously, he’s not a choir boy.”

“No, far from it. However, that’s not surprising when you consider that he grew up in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, where most of his peers were involved in criminal activity by the time they were in their teens.”

“Was that also true of Frosty?”

“No, I didn’t find any evidence he had any brushes with the law when he was growing up. According to a speech he gave when he accepted an award from the mayor of D. C., he credits his mother for keeping him out of trouble. He said she made sure he finished high school and went on to college, where he got a degree in business.”

“What college did he attend?”

“The only one he could afford, our own public university, the University of the District of Columbia. He paid for his tuition by doing construction work, and once he graduated, he started a small construction business. His big break came when he purchased a rundown apartment complex in a low-income area and discovered the federal government was willing to send him truckloads of cash to build affordable housing units on the property.”

“Is that how he got involved with community leaders?”

“That’s right. From what I can tell, when the media began reporting on how he was revitalizing communities, several of them began pursuing him, and he willingly embraced their overtures.”

“Were they pursuing him for money?”

“I’m sure there was some of that, but mostly, they were asking him to serve on boards of organizations who provided services for the less fortunate, particularly underprivileged kids in the same neighborhoods where he was building affordable housing units.”

“So is the Red Shield Academy one of those organizations? Does Frosty serve on their board?”

She let out a short laugh. “You’re way ahead of me. Yes, Frosty Fasano is on the advisory board of the Red Shield Academy. He’s also chummy with the director, Riley Pogue. I discovered they were friends after checking his social media and seeing that Riley’s wife had posted several photographs of her and Riley on an Alaskan cruise ship with Frosty and his wife.”

When I was quiet for a moment, Nina asked, “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. I was just processing what you told me. The fact that Fasano is connected to the Red Shield Academy could be relevant. On the other hand, unless Cassandra is on the advisory board, I’m not sure what opportunity they would have had to become acquainted with each other.”

“I imagine the only way you’ll find that out is by talking to her coworkers at the high school and her family members.”

“You’re right. That’s what I’ve been thinking too. What else did you find out about the Red Shield Academy?”

I listened for several minutes while Nina went through the relevant data associated with the school—class sizes, number of students, teacher-to-student ratio—as well as a description of their facilities, which included a state-of-the art computer lab.

When she finished, I said, “I have to admit I’m surprised by the number of students enrolled. That’s a lot of students.”

“Yes, that number also got the attention of several members of a Senate oversight committee who’ve been looking into how federal educational grants are being used.”

“Is that the OCEG committee?”

“Since you know that, I suspect you’ve been talking to Nathan. As soon as I started looking into the Red Shield Academy, I remembered Senator Allen was on that committee.”

“Yes, I talked to Nathan after church yesterday, but he didn’t say anything about the enrollment numbers. Those figures got my attention because when I asked Kyle if he knew anything about the police investigation of Cassandra, he told me that when he and his partner visited the Red Shield Academy a few months ago, he was surprised at the small number of students in the hallways.”

“Is that right? Well, since educational grant funds are based on the number of students enrolled, I suspect the oversight committee is questioning whether Director Pogue has been inflating those numbers and possibly misusing grant monies in other ways as well.”

“Do you know if the OCEG committee has informed Director Pogue they’re looking into how the grant money is being used?”

“No, but I know they haven’t had any public hearings yet because I checked the congressional calendar.”

“Okay, thanks, Nina. All of this is very helpful. I’m sorry I can’t discuss it with you further, but I have to leave for my rehab appointment now. Joe’s bringing me to the office later this afternoon, so keep digging, and we’ll talk about it when I see you.”

“One last thing, Mylas. In the email I’m about to send you, I’ll include a list of personnel at the Red Shield Academy, so you can decide who you might want to question there.”

“That’ll be helpful, although I haven’t figured out how I’m going to be allowed to question them yet.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Yeah, sometimes Nina gave me kudos too.

* * * * * *

Although I was expecting my therapy at the Benchmark Rehab Center to be tedious, my time went by quickly, and while the stretching and range-of-motion exercises were uncomfortable at first, they got much easier toward the end of the session.

After I completed my exercises, I thought I might be given a reprieve from wearing my sling.

Not so.

My therapist, Jessica, a forty-something, soft-spoken woman who spoke encouragingly to me the whole time I was struggling through my exercises, became a drill sergeant when I brought it up.

“No, sir. You’re not leaving here without wearing your sling.” She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Once I put it back on, she was all smiles again.

Because of her Jekyll and Hyde persona, when she walked me out to the lobby and told me I should go home and rest for the remainder of the day, I decided not to mention I had other plans.

Those plans included spending at least a couple of hours at the Greystone Center, although I admit when Joe dropped me off there, I was feeling a little tired when I walked in the lobby.

My receptionist, Kendall McDonald, who was studying for her master’s degree in criminal justice, looked at me in disbelief. “Mr. Grey, I can’t believe you’re here.” She immediately came out from behind the reception counter. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great, Kendall. How are things at MGI today?”

“Just fine. I’ve had several phone calls, but I’ve transferred most of them to Ms. Irving. I guess you know Mr. Ford started working today.”

Ever since I’d hired Kendall, I’d been trying to convince her it was okay to call me by my first name. It hadn’t happened yet, so I’d finally given up. “Yes, I’m on my way up to see Kyle now.”

“Can you manage okay? Would you like for me to get the elevator for you?”

“Uh . . . no, I’ll be fine. Thank you anyway.”

Mylas Grey Investigations occupied the first and second floors of the four-story Greystone Center, and although I intended to lease the other two floors eventually, I was still looking for an appropriate tenant.

In addition to the large reception area on the bottom floor, there were two administrative offices—occupied by my assistant, Greta, and my financial secretary, Bonnie—and there was also a break room which could accommodate a dozen people.

Ordinarily, when I arrived at the Greystone Center, my first stop was at Greta’s office, but since her door was closed—which meant she was either on the phone or had someone with her—I decided to see her later.

Instead, I took the elevator up to my office on the second floor.

When I got off the elevator, the offices of my investigative staff were located down the hallway to my left, and my office suite was to the right.

Among the security features I’d added when I purchased the building were locks on every door, the kind that required individual key cards. However, when I walked over to my door, I suddenly realized getting my wallet out and removing my key card with one hand wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

“Hey, Mylas, let me help you with that.”

When I glanced over my left shoulder, I saw Leslie coming down the hall toward me. “Oh, hi, Leslie. I think I’ve got it now, but thanks anyway.”

However, as I retrieved the card from my wallet, I dropped it on the floor, and the moment she saw it fall, she immediately rushed over, scooped it up, and inserted it in the key slot for me.

“There you go,” she said, opening the door with one hand and motioning me inside with the other.

I shook my head at her as I went inside. “You know you just ruined my tough guy act, don’t you?”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” she said with a smile. “Most guys in your situation would be sitting at home binge-watching sports shows on their couch right now. What are you doing here, anyway? I heard the doctor ordered you to take a week off.”

“I just came by for a couple of hours to check on things. I’ll be leaving as soon as I talk to Nina and Chase.”

“Please don’t tell me you drove here on your own. You called an Uber, didn’t you?”

“No, I had Joe bring me.”

“That’s a relief.” She motioned toward a guest chair. “As long as I’m here, would you like me to stay and update you on my cases?”

“Sure. Have a seat.”

When I took a seat behind my desk and opened up my laptop, she sat down in one of my guest chairs and removed her phone from the pocket of the red leather jacket she was wearing.

The rest of her ensemble included a black turtleneck sweater—which showed off her platinum blonde hair—and a pair of tailored black and white houndstooth pants and black ankle boots.

Leslie was working on two cases. One was locating a missing grandmother, and after she told me she was making progress on that one, she said, “I’ve had to put the infidelity case involving the husband of Congresswoman Renee Higgins on hold for now.”

“Really? Last week you told me you were about to give Congresswoman Higgins evidence about her husband, and you said you thought you’d close the case this week.”

She nodded. “All that was true, but Thursday morning, she called and asked me to delay presenting her with that evidence. She said she was having second thoughts about seeing it. She promised to let me know what she wanted to do by the end of this week. Personally, I think she may want to stay with her husband until after the election.”

“Did you remind her about the terms of her contract?”

“Yes, and she said she understood our daily rate charges would be accruing until the case was closed.”

I shook my head. “That’s what I love about this business. You never know what people are gonna do.”

“This morning I got a call from a new client who’s coming in for an appointment on Wednesday, but since my appointment with Congresswoman Higgins has been cancelled for tomorrow, it looks like I’ll be free. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Uh . . . I’m not sure. I’ll let you know after I talk to Nina about some research she’s doing for me.”

“Is it for a case? It didn’t look like you had anything on the calendar until next week.”

“No, I’m doing a favor for one of Joe’s friends who just got out of prison.”

“Oh, that’s right. When Kyle and I went out on Saturday night, he told me you had an appointment with an ex-con.”

I smiled. “I understand you got tickets to a Wizards game.”

She splayed her hands across her face and grimaced in an exaggerated attempt to look embarrassed. “I was hoping he wouldn’t mention that to you. I suppose you figured out I bought those tickets myself so I could invite him to go with me.”

“Since I know you’re not a sports fan, that was an easy one to figure out. From what Kyle said, he really enjoyed the game.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, but I thought it was boring. I’m not sure I can do that again.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant go to another basketball game or spend another evening with Ford, but before I could ask which one it was, she picked up her phone and stood to her feet. “Okay, I don’t wanna keep you too long , so I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Well, thanks for offering to help me. I may take you up on that.”

After she opened the door, she turned around and gave me a wave. “I’ll be happy to do whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t include attending any kind of sporting event.”

I didn’t tell her what I had in mind wouldn’t be nearly that exciting.

Chapter 6

After checking my email and returning a couple of phone calls, I left my office to go down the hall and talk to Nina.

As I was passing the surveillance suite, I saw Reed, my surveillance chief, and Hank, one of the members of his crew, sitting at the large conference table in the center of the room, so I stuck my head in the door for a second.

“Hi, guys. I need to talk to Nina first, but if you’re gonna be around for a while, I’ll come back and chat with you for a few minutes.”

Reed nodded. “We’ll be here, but the question is, should you be here? Unless I’m mistaken, you were in the hospital two days ago.”

“Well, according to my doctor and my physical therapist, I should be home right now, but I prefer to listen to what my body’s telling me.”

“Yeah,” Hank said, “but when my alarm goes off every morning, if I listen to what my body’s telling me, I wouldn’t have a job, so I’m not sure that’s such a good thing.”

Reed and I both laughed.

I said, “Point taken,” and then I added, “and point ignored.”

I closed the door and walked over to Nina’s office.

After I knocked a couple of times, she yelled, “Come in,” but since she sounded upset about something, I stood at the threshold for a few seconds and didn’t go inside.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” I asked. “You sound like you might throw something at me, and in my current state, I can’t guarantee I’d be able to dodge it.”

“Yeah, it’s safe. Come on in.”

Once I took a seat on the opposite side of her desk, I asked, “What are you so upset about?”

She gestured at one of her computer monitors. “I was able to access the feed from the security cameras around the Red Shield Academy, but all I’m seeing is a blank screen on the afternoon Cassandra disappeared.”

“Oops. I should have mentioned Kyle told me the school’s surveillance system was offline that afternoon.”

She looked disgusted. “Well, isn’t that convenient? I hope they’re looking into why that happened. Was it a one-time thing or an ongoing problem?”

“I don’t know the answer to that right now. Are you able to tell anything about the reliability of their surveillance system?”

She studied her screen for a few seconds. “No, but I’ll look into it. On a more positive note, I do have the feed from the security cameras on the morning of January 11 when Cassandra was walking into the building.”

She clicked a key on her keyboard, and then she swiveled her monitor around so I could also take a look at it. “Here’s a clip of Cassandra arriving at the Red Shield Academy at seven-forty that morning. That’s her in the blue jacket with the black pants.”

Nina froze the screen for a moment while I studied the image.

Cassandra’s blonde hair was pulled away from her face and held at the back of her head with a large white clip. Her head was turned slightly to the right where she appeared to be talking to a black male student, who was walking into the building with her. He was several inches taller than she was.They were both smiling.

I said, “I haven’t had a chance to go through the list of the school’s personnel you sent me, but do you remember if the janitor’s name was on that list?”

“The school has two janitors, a man and a woman, but I assume you’re interested in the man, since I read that he was the last person to speak to Cassandra. His name is Jesse Delaney.”

“Kyle indicated the police might be taking a second look at him as a possible suspect.”

“In that case, I’ll also take a look at him.” After she wrote something down on a yellow note pad, she motioned at me with her pen. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised when I tell you I’ve found out a few things about Raul Hernandez, the new inmate at Petersburg.”

“No, that doesn’t surprise me. You probably want to know if he’s telling the truth as much as I do.”

“I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you some facts about his background.”

“At this point, I’ll take anything.”

“First of all, he was born in El Paso, Texas, and he’s forty-three years old. It looks like he made it through high school in El Paso without any problems, but when he was twenty-five, he was sent to jail for distribution of a controlled substance. He was in for two years.”

“So he got into drug trafficking in El Paso.”

“Yeah, and maybe that’s why he left Texas when he got out of jail, but that’s just speculation on my part. However, ten years ago, I know he was living here in D. C., because his wife served divorce papers on him, and the address that’s listed is a townhouse on Chandler Street. Two years later, he was convicted on federal burglary charges when he and three others were caught breaking into a national armory.”

“Is that when he was sent to Petersburg?”

“That’s right. He served five years of a ten-year sentence and was paroled three years ago. Now, he’s back at Petersburg for violating his parole after he was caught breaking into a residence.” She held up her hands. “That’s all I know about his background.”

“Thanks for doing this research. I’m sure it’ll be helpful.”

“Hold on. I’m not done yet. Would it also be helpful if I found out he went to work for Fasano after he was paroled from Petersburg?”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, of course it would. How were you able to find that out?”

After she went into a detailed description of how she was able to find the online records of Liberty Landworks, Fasano’s real estate development company, she said, “Raul Hernandez is listed in the company’s employee directory as a driver for Frosty Fasano.”

“You mean a personal driver, like a chauffeur, or is he a truck driver for Liberty Landworks?”

“I mean he’s listed as a chauffeur. Frosty uses a personal driver to take him around to his construction sites, and he also employs a bodyguard. In fact, I found a video of both of them.”

She scrolled through a few screens on her computer, hit some keystrokes, and pretty soon I was seeing some publicity videos on the Liberty Landworks website.

One of them showed Frosty emerging from the passenger side of a black GMC Yukon at a construction site and being greeted by a bunch of construction workers. In the driver’s seat of the Yukon was a Hispanic male with a dark beard, who also got out of the vehicle a few seconds after Frosty.

Like the rest of the workers at the site, the driver was wearing a blue denim work shirt with Liberty Landworks imprinted in red lettering on the right side, and just below the company name was the individual’s name, Raul Hernandez.

Nina paused the video and pointed at another male—a tall, well-built African American guy—who also got out of the Yukon and was standing a few feet behind Frosty.

The name on his shirt was Tyrone Slayton.

Nina said, “This guy, Tyrone, is listed as Frosty’s head of security. When I did a quick background search on him, I discovered he and Frosty grew up in the same neighborhood here in D. C., and I also found out Tyrone served time in Petersburg when Raul was there.”

“So Raul probably met Tyrone in prison, became friends, and that’s how they both ended up working for Frosty.”

“That’s a logical conclusion since a study done by the Institute of Criminal Justice reveals that nearly seventy percent of prisoners who develop friendships during incarceration maintain those relationships post-release.”

I smiled. “That’s good to know.”

“I bet you’d also like to know Frosty’s address, wouldn’t you?”

I nodded. “Yeah, but since I’m gonna have Chase run surveillance on him for a few days, would you email it to him, along with Frosty’s picture, plus whatever information you have about his vehicles?”

After she said she would, I asked, “Do you also have an address for Kathleen Simmons? At some point, I’ll need to pay her a visit.”

“No, but I can get it for you pretty quick.”

Once she looked it up, she wrote it down on a slip of paper, and then as she handed it to me, she said, “I’m gonna be tied up with Leslie and her missing person’s case the rest of the day, but tomorrow morning, unless you have something else you want me to do, I’d like to check out the other CCTV cameras in the area around the Red Shield Academy and see if Cassandra shows up on any of them.”

“Yeah, go ahead and do that. I’ll be interested to see if you can spot her. I have to believe the police also checked them out, though.”

“Yeah, but who knows if you’ll ever get access to that information.”

“According to Kyle, unless I have some official capacity in the investigation of Cassandra’s disappearance, the DC Police probably won’t be forthcoming with me about anything.”

“That’s not too surprising, is it?”

“No, but I’m working on a solution to that problem.”

After slipping my phone back in my pocket, I motioned at her and asked, “Before I leave, do you have anything else for me?”

“Uh . . . well . . . maybe. I was just wondering what I should do about Kyle.”

I frowned at her. “I’m not sure what you mean. What do you need to do about Kyle?”

She shrugged. “Should I offer to help him with his first case? Or should I just wait for him to come and see me?”

Last week, I sent Ford an email assigning him his first case when a divorce lawyer hired MGI to find his client’s missing husband. Although Ford had been a homicide detective with the DC Police, he hadn’t shown any reluctance to take the case, and in fact, he said he was looking forward to it.

“I doubt if Kyle has officially started working on his first case yet. If I remember correctly, the lawyer isn’t coming in to discuss it with him until tomorrow, but once he does, I’m sure Kyle will let you know if he needs you to do some research for him.”

“Okay, I just wasn’t sure what I should do about him.”

Nina and I had known each other long enough for me to recognize my answer didn’t satisfy her, and after I thought about it a second, I realized what she was worried about.

It was something she’d hinted at last week when I brought up the subject of Ford becoming an associate investigator at MGI—she was worried he might question whether her computer activities were completely legal or not.

I said, “I plan to drop in on Kyle in a few minutes, so if it’s okay with you, I’ll remind him that I’ve provided you with an unlimited amount of resources . . .” I gestured at the myriad of equipment on her credenza, which included facial recognition software, a voice analysis machine, and video editing equipment. “. . . and that you’ve had years of experience vetting judicial candidates in the Senate, and if he should need you to do research to help him on his cases, you’ll be more than willing to do so. In fact, I’ll encourage him to do that.”

“Sure, I’m okay with that, and I suppose if he asks me about my methods, I’ll just give him the details and see what he says about it.”

“If the details you give him are as confusing as the ones you gave me when I started working with you, then I doubt if he’ll have any questions.”

“Sometimes it’s best to be a little mysterious when you don’t want someone to understand the obvious.”

I got out of my chair and headed for the door. “I think I’ll just leave that statement right there.”

“You’re a very wise man.”

* * * * * *

When I walked out of Nina’s office, I saw Ford coming down the hallway carrying a large box.

“Hi, Kyle. I’d offer to help you, but . . .” I pointed to my blue sling.

He shook his head. “It’s amazing what some people will do to keep from helping a guy out.”

I smiled. “Are you getting settled in okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Greta spent an hour going over a bunch of administrative details with me about how she ran the office, and then Bonnie had me sign some financial forms to set up my payroll account, and when I got up here to my office, Chase was waiting for me with some donuts and coffee.”

“It sounds like you’re all set to get started.” I pointed toward Nina’s office. “I think you’ll find Nina will also be a good resource for you when you need information on anyone involved in your investigations.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m looking forward to using her research skills. Did she fill in some details for you about Frosty Fasano?”

“She definitely did, and I also found out Raul Hernandez was Frosty’s driver, so there’s a connection between the two of them. That doesn’t mean I’m any closer to finding out if Raul was telling the truth about Cassandra Simmons, though.”

“Let’s hope he wasn’t telling the truth, and she turns up soon.”

After I told him I’d see him tomorrow, I stopped by the surveillance suite to talk to Reed about Frosty.

When I walked in, Reed was on the phone with Buzz, one of his surveillance team members. He had him on speakerphone so Hank could listen in, and from what I could tell, Buzz was following someone connected to Leslie’s case on the missing grandmother.

When Reed hung up, we discussed Leslie’s case for a few minutes, and then I told them what I was doing.

Both of them looked surprised when I said I was looking into Cassandra’s disappearance, and they seemed especially shocked when I said I was doing it as a favor for my handyman.

After I gave them the details, Reed—who was somewhat of a news fanatic—said, “One of the networks is airing a special news program on Cassandra tonight, so you might want to catch that.”

“Thanks. I’ll check into it. What I’d like for you to do is to put a surveillance team on Frosty Fasano. I’m mainly interested in his daily activities, like where he’s going and who he’s seeing.”

“Sure, no problem,” Reed said. “I suppose you’ve got an address for me.”

When I told him Nina was sending it to him in an email, he checked his phone. “Yeah, here it is. Liberty Landworks. I’ve seen their sign on a construction site in a neighborhood near my place. I remember thinking the logo for their business looked a lot like the Texas flag. It’s a circle with a white star against a blue background, and I believe there are some red and white stripes on it too.”

Reed was originally from Houston, Texas, which anyone could have guessed by his Texas drawl and his western-style shirts and cowboy boots.

The only person I’d heard tease him about it was Hank, who looked over at me and said, “Better watch out, Mylas. He’ll start singing ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’ any minute now.”

Reed grinned and shook his head at him. “I’ll try to control myself.” He looked over at me. “Do you want me to call you if Fasano shows up at any particular place?”

“Yeah, if he goes to the Red Shield Academy, I’d like to know about that right away. Otherwise, I’ll just read your report later. There are two things you need to know about following Frosty. More than likely, he’ll have a driver who knows how to watch for a tail. The second thing is that he travels with a bodyguard, a guy named Tyrone.”

“Okay, thanks. That’s good to know.” Reed looked down at his phone for a second and then over at Hank. “How about the two of us taking the first shift? You think you’re up for it?”

Hank grabbed his ball cap. “I’ll drive. You ride shotgun.”

Reed nodded at me. “I think we’ve got this.”

After I left them, I walked back down to my office and texted Joe to pick me up.

It was time to call it a day.

Or rather, it was time to go home and make plans for tomorrow.

Tomorrow was when I planned to pay Kathleen Simmons a visit.

PART TWO

Chapter 7

Tuesday, January 25

For some reason, I woke up an hour earlier than usual, so after I got dressed and had my devotional time—thirty minutes of reading the Bible and praying—I went downstairs to my study to wait for Mrs. Higbee to call me for breakfast.

Last night, I was too tired to examine the Red Shield Academy personnel directory Nina had sent me, so once I gave Babe some attention, I pulled it up on my screen and went through the names.

One of the reasons I didn’t do it last night was because I stayed up late watching a news program entitled “Who is Cassandra Simmons?” narrated by one of the network’s award-winning anchormen.

I was disappointed there wasn’t any new information about what happened to her. The program was mainly about Cassandra’s early childhood and her desire to be an educator from the time she was a teenager. Such information wasn’t all that surprising since her father was a school principal, and her mother was an elementary teacher.

The journalist narrating the program included personal interviews with two family friends, plus one of Cassandra’s colleagues at her previous high school, as well as Beth Rizzo, the Counseling Coordinator at the Red Shield Academy. Rizzo praised Cassandra’s passion for her students, her dedication to her job, and her ongoing desire to improve the school’s curriculum.

Unfortunately, there weren’t any interviews with the Red Shield Academy’s Director, Riley Pogue, or with Cassandra’s mother, Kathleen.

When the program ended, the reporter explained the absence of Riley Pogue and Kathleen Simmons by noting that some requests for interviews were denied due to the ongoing police investigation.

The last scene in the broadcast showed the reporter standing across the street from Kathleen Simmons’ house, where he pointed out there were no cars in the driveway, no news vans parked along the street, and no police detectives visiting the home.

The scene went to black after he said, “Will the mystery of Cassandra Simmons’ disappearance ever be solved or will she, like so many other missing persons, be forgotten?”

I was actually glad the reporter chose to show the lack of activity around Cassandra’s house. If there were news organizations recording my visit when I showed up there to talk to Kathleen, it would defeat my purpose of wanting to fly under the radar with both the police and the public until I had some answers.

To that end, after breakfast, I called Leslie and asked her if her offer to help me out was still open. Not only did I need her to drive me over to see Kathleen, I figured having a woman with me would make Kathleen more comfortable.

“It sure is,” she said. “Is this about the favor you’re doing for your handyman?”

When I told her it was, and that it was connected to the disappearance of Cassandra Simmons, she seemed genuinely surprised. Then, when I told her what Raul Hernandez said about Fasano killing Cassandra, and that I wanted to go speak to Kathleen personally, she was obviously enthusiastic about going with me.

“When and where shall I pick you up?” she asked.

“Joe’s taking me to my physical therapy session at ten o’clock at the Benchmark Rehabilitation Center on Reservoir Road, so could you pick me up there at eleven?”

“Absolutely. Shall I come inside or meet you in the parking lot?”

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot. It’s located at the front of the building facing the entrance.”

“Have you already made an appointment with Kathleen Simmons?”

“No, and I don’t plan to do that, but when you pick me up, I’ll be happy to take you to lunch and explain why. That’s also when I’ll go over my plans with you about how I want to approach her.”

“Sounds like a winner to me. I’ll see you in a bit.”

I came within a few seconds of asking her to dress conservatively for our visit, but she hung up before I got the words out.

I figured not saying anything was probably a good thing.

The last time I said something to a woman about her style of clothing, it didn’t turn out so well.

Especially for me.

* * * * * *

Jessica began my physical therapy session by taking me to a private rehab room with subdued lighting where soft music was playing in the background.

After applying a warm compress to my shoulder, she said, “I’m leaving this on here for fifteen minutes to loosen up your muscles before you begin your exercises. Just relax and take it easy. I’ll be right down the hall helping another patient if you should need anything.”

As soon as she left, my cell phone vibrated.

It was my father.

“Hi, Dad. I can’t talk long. I’m in a physical therapy room getting ready to be put through some tortuous exercises.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun. Should I call you back later?”

“No, it’s fine. The therapist won’t be back for fifteen minutes.”

“Do I hear violins playing?”

“Uh-huh. It’s supposed to relax me.”

“Sounds irritating to me.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“What relaxes me is to sit back in my recliner and think about the case I’m working on.”

I recognized that was my cue to ask him what he was working on, and once he told me about a local insurance agency hiring him to investigate a fraud case, he said, “So tell me what you’re doing to keep yourself busy while you’re off work.”

I hesitated.

While I had no doubt my dad would be fascinated to hear what Lenny had told me about Raul Hernandez and Cassandra Simmons, I knew he wouldn’t like the idea that I wasn’t following my doctor’s orders and lounging around the house all day.

And because he was my dad, he’d probably end up giving me what my mother used to call “a good scolding.”

I said, “Basically, I’m just helping Joe with a project.”

“Well, be careful, Son. You don’t wanna do anything that might set your recuperation back.”

“Don’t worry. I’m pacing myself.”

“Uh-huh. I know what that means.” We both chuckled for a few seconds. “I guess you probably know your mother’s over at Whitney’s helping her pack for her move."

“Whitney mentioned that. I’m sure Mom’s enjoying herself.”

“Oh, you know she is. We’ll be sorry to see Whitney go, but I know you’re looking forward to having her live near you. Of course, it made us a little anxious for her safety when we heard about what happened to that school counselor.”

“You mean Cassandra Simmons?”

“Yeah, you and I both know she didn’t just disappear. Something awful happened to the poor woman, and it probably happened somewhere in that building.”

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’re right.”

“More than likely, somebody at that school—and I don’t know if it’s a student or a teacher—knows what happened to her. When the police find that person, they’ll find her too.”

“I hope you’re right, Dad.”

“When they find her, I just pray she’s alive, but—”

When I heard Jessica’s voice outside my door, I had to interrupt him. “Sorry, Dad. I gotta go now.”

“Okay, we’ll talk later.” He chuckled. “Enjoy yourself.”

* * * * * *

Although the exercises weren’t enjoyable, I could tell they were helping me regain the mobility in my injured shoulder, so to endure the repetitive movements, I used the time to think about my dad’s observation about Cassandra’s disappearance.

I agreed with him there was a good possibility someone at the school had information about her disappearance, but whether they realized the information was relevant to the investigation might not be obvious to them.

Thus, I figured the only way for me to determine the significance of what they knew was to ask questions and observe their responses in a face-to-face interview.

After watching the interview last night with Beth Rizzo, the Counseling Coordinator at the Red Shield Academy, I was particularly interested in speaking to her.

And, since Nina said the school’s director, Riley Pogue, was friends with Frosty Fasano, I was equally anxious to interview him.

While I would also like to talk to the janitor, Jesse Delaney, I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea after Ford indicated he might be under police surveillance as a possible suspect.

I hadn’t totally ruled it out, though.

It all depended on my coming up with a plausible reason to interview Beth Rizzo and Riley Pogue. If I did that, then I might also try to question Delaney when I showed up at the school.

However, once I finished my therapy session, I shoved these thoughts to the back of my mind and reminded myself to concentrate on my plan to convince Kathleen Simmons to talk to me.

First, though, I had to convince Leslie to go along with my plan.

* * * * * *

Leslie drove a black Jaguar F-Pace SUV, and as I slid in the passenger seat, I realized I’d never been anywhere with her that I wasn’t in the driver’s seat of my own vehicle.

I admit it made me feel a little vulnerable—like I wasn’t in control.

However, I reminded myself I’d felt that way about her at other times too, even when I was in the driver’s seat.

I figured it was because of her take-charge personality, and today, it was probably compounded by my own feeling of insecurity from having the use of only one arm.

“Are you doing okay?” she asked. “I hear they usually work you pretty hard in those rehab sessions.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m doing just fine.”

After I put my seatbelt on, I asked, “You don’t happen to have any pain pills on you, do you?”

She laughed as she put the car in gear. “No, but I bet a good meal will make you feel better. Where do you wanna eat?”

“This is my treat, so you pick the restaurant.”

She wanted to go to The Pike, a seafood restaurant on the fringes of the Hillcrest area where Kathleen Simmons lived, and when I told her I’d never been there, she looked pleased.

The restaurant had a cozy atmosphere and featured exposed brick walls adorned with nautical-themed artwork and high-backed leather booths, making it easy to have a private conversation.

After we were seated, we spent a few minutes studying our menus, and then she lowered hers and announced she was having the clam chowder and the grilled Pacific salmon.

When I told her I hadn’t made up my mind yet, she immediately suggested I try the Mahi Mahi tacos with the mango salsa.

However, when the waiter arrived to take our order, I rejected her suggestion and ordered the seafood linguine instead.

I was amused at myself for ordering the linguine. I knew I’d only done it to assert myself because I really liked Mahi Mahi tacos.

If she noticed I hadn’t followed her recommendation, she gave no indication of it, and once the waiter left, she immediately brought up the subject of Kathleen Simmons.

“So tell me how you plan to handle Cassandra’s mother. I’ve been thinking about it ever since you called me this morning. I figured you had to have a plan since I suspect she’s gonna be wary of a stranger showing up on her doorstep wanting to speak to her about her daughter.”

“Yes, and I’m sure she’s also been harassed by reporters wanting an interview. That’s why I thought I’d try a different approach.”

When I went over what I planned to do, she was agreeable to it—even complimentary about it—but as I was explaining the plan to her, I started questioning if it was the right approach.

I didn’t say anything to Leslie about my uncertainty, but as we were driving over to Kathleen’s house, I found myself praying about it.

Specifically, I asked God to give me a better plan.

When Leslie pulled up in the driveway, I had nothing.

* * * * * *

The house Kathleen Simmons shared with Cassandra was located in an older neighborhood, and like most of the two-story red-brick homes, it had a front porch that ran the width of the house, along with white wooden shutters on the front-facing windows.

Each residence also had a narrow one-car driveway. When Leslie pulled to a stop at the curb in front of the house, I was glad to see Kathleen’s driveway was empty.

After doing another quick check to make sure I couldn’t see any suspicious cars or media vehicles parked down the block, I looked over at Leslie and asked, “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “Yep, let’s do this.”

The outfit Leslie had chosen to wear was definitely conservative according to her standards—a blue pantsuit with a wide pinstripe pattern, white blouse, and red patent leather low-heel shoes.

As the two of us walked up the sidewalk to the front porch, I figured if Kathleen was observing us, she would probably think we were journalists or television types.

That was actually what I wanted her to think.

My plan was to present Leslie and me as the producers of an upcoming television program called “Vanished: Real-Life Stories of Forgotten Missing Persons.”

I was going to sell her on the idea of this series by offering to compensate her generously for allowing us to interview her. At the same time, I planned to make sure she understood this program was only in the pilot stage, and there was no guarantee it would ever get the backing of a studio and make it to the television screen.

When I stepped up on the porch, I noticed a faded sign above the doorbell that said, “No solicitors, please.”

I rang the doorbell.

At least three minutes passed before it was opened by a frail-looking woman wearing a gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants.

Tied around her head was a red bandana.

The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I could never go through with my scheme.

I had no way of letting Leslie know about my change of mind, but I decided she’d figure it out soon enough.

“May I help you?”

“Are you Kathleen Simmons?”

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

I reached in my pocket and pulled out one of my business cards. “I’m Mylas Grey with Mylas Grey Investigations, and this is my associate, Leslie Irving.”

I held the card up to the front of the storm door—which Kathleen hadn’t shown any sign of opening.

I said, “I talked to someone on Monday who may have some information about Cassandra, but I haven’t told the police yet. I need to verify their information first. Would you be willing to answer a few questions about Cassandra for me? I believe your answers will help me decide if he’s telling the truth.”

She studied my face for a second, and then she looked over at Leslie, who I didn’t dare look at in case she was staring daggers at me.

Kathleen slowly nodded. “Okay, I’ll answer your questions.”

She unlocked the storm door.

Chapter 8

The moment Kathleen turned away from the door, I quickly glanced over at Leslie, who had a puzzled look on her face. However, once I mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” she smiled and waved at me dismissively.

Kathleen led us into a living area with an upholstered couch, a matching armchair, and a burgundy recliner.

The recliner was facing a large-screen TV on top of a wooden entertainment center on the opposite side of the room. Next to the recliner was an end table with several items on it—a cell phone, mobile tablet, tissues, insulated water bottle, paperbacks, and a notepad—which made me suspect the recliner was Kathleen’s favorite chair, and where she spent most of her days.

This was confirmed for me when she told us to have a seat on the couch, and she sat down in the recliner. As soon as Leslie and I took a seat on the couch—to the right of the recliner—I turned to my left and placed my business card on the end table. “If you want to give my office a call or look me up on the internet, I don’t mind waiting while you do that. I promise I won’t be offended.”

She looked at the card briefly, but then she shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. I remember seeing you on the news a few weeks ago when some political guy was murdered. Since I’ve been taking chemo, I don’t have much energy, so I watch a lot of television.”

“Are you experiencing other side effects from your treatment?” Leslie asked. “My parents are doctors, so I know a little about chemo.”

Leslie appeared to be genuinely concerned about Kathleen, which was a side of her personality I’d never seen before.

Kathleen said, “Just the fatigue, and of course, I’ve lost all my hair.” She put her hand up to her bandana. “I’m not complaining, though. A lot of people have constant nausea, and mine hasn’t been that bad.”

Leslie asked, “How many treatments do you have left?”

“Just one. Cassandra was planning to take me out for a steak dinner when I rang the bell at the cancer center.” She glanced away for a second, and then after taking a deep breath, she looked over at me. “So what information do you have about my daughter?”

“Before I tell you, I want to emphasize the person who claimed to know something may not be reliable, so what he said may not be true.”

She pressed her lips together. “Is that your way of preparing me for bad news?”

I nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

She put a hand on each arm of the recliner as if she needed to brace herself. “I understand. Go ahead and tell me.”

“On Monday—through a set of circumstances which aren’t important—I met with an ex-con who had just been released from Petersburg Federal Prison. During our meeting, he told me about overhearing a conversation between two inmates, one of whom had just arrived at Petersburg.”

Kathleen listened with rapt attention as I related what Raul Hernandez told Diego about Frosty killing Cassandra, and how he and another guy had buried her at one of Frosty’s construction sites. I didn’t use the inmates’ names, nor did I use Frosty’s name. Instead, I said Cassandra was killed by a construction worker, and I just referred to Hernandez as the inmate who claimed to have buried her.

When I finished, Kathleen immediately grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the tears running down her cheeks. Then, after taking a long drink from her water bottle, she said, “If this wasn’t true, why would the inmate say he’d done something like this?”

“It’s possible he was trying to impress the other inmate. That’s just the way things work in a prison environment. If you have a bad reputation, the other inmates will respect you a lot more. Since Cassandra’s been on the news, I’m sure his claim sounded truthful.”

She thought for a moment. “Do you think it’s true?”

“I’m not prepared to say if it’s true or not. After I was given this information, I felt obligated to verify as much of it as possible before going to the police with it. That’s why we’re here, Mrs. Simmons.”

“So how can I verify it for you?”

“Basically, I just need your answers to some personal questions about Cassandra.”

She put her hand up to her heart. “Okay, I think I can do that.”

“When I told you that the inmate mentioned someone in the construction business, did that mean anything to you? Was Cassandra acquainted with anyone in construction or real estate development?”

She looked down at her lap for a moment. “No, not as far as I know. She never said anything about meeting any construction people.”

“What about dating? Was she seeing anyone?”

She shook her head. “No, Cassandra never dated that much, even in college. And then, after she became a counselor, she got wrapped up in the lives of her students, and they were all she was interested in.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Cassandra?”

“The day she went missing. As she was about to leave the house, she reminded me to take my medication.”

“Did she say anything about what she had on her schedule that day? Do you know if she had any appointments with anyone?”

“We didn’t really talk about her schedule.”

“Was she worried about anything?”

“The only thing Cassandra was worried about was whether she was meeting the needs of her students. Most of the kids at that school come from difficult situations, and she was always concerned about making sure they had a bright future ahead of them.”

After she made this statement, Kathleen took a deep breath, which made me realize my non-stop questions were probably putting a strain on her, both physically and emotionally.

“I know this must be difficult for you, so I’ll try to wrap it up quickly. Can you think of anyone who might want to harm Cassandra?”

“No, and I told the police the same thing.” She shook her head. “I guess I really haven’t been that helpful to you, have I?”

“It’s not your fault. You don’t know what you don’t know.”

She asked, “Is there anyone else who could verify whether the inmate was telling the truth or not?”

I nodded. “It’s possible Cassandra’s colleagues might know something, but I doubt if they’ll talk to me since I have no authority to interview them.”

“But you’re a private investigator. Why can’t you just ask them?”

Leslie spoke up. “Mylas isn’t representing a client. He’s just helping out a friend who gave him this information about Cassandra.”

“I see.” A moment later, Kathleen extended her hand toward me. “Well, what if I hired you? What if I were your client?”

I smiled. “If you’re asking me to find Cassandra for you, I’ll be more than happy to do that, but it’s gonna cost you.”

She looked concerned. “How much?”

“Do you have a dollar?”

She stared at me. “A dollar? Really?”

“If you’ll give me a dollar, it will be official, although I’ll need to have you sign a contract with my agency. However, I can have my assistant email you the contract later, if that’s what you want.”

“I want to find out what happened to my daughter, so yes, I want to hire you to find her.”

She opened a drawer on the end table, and after rummaging around for a moment, she pulled out a dollar bill. “Here you go. Just a second, and I’ll write down my email address for you.”

While she was doing that, I asked her to be sure and include her phone number, and after she handed me the piece of paper, I said, “The next time you talk to the detectives in charge of Cassandra’s case, I’d appreciate it if you would tell them you’ve hired Mylas Grey Investigations to find Cassandra. That way, if we should both show up at the same place, there won’t be any misunderstanding.”

“I’ll do that. I usually hear from Detective Sarah Welch every two or three days, although she never has that much to tell me.”

“When you read our contract, you’ll notice I’m obligated to inform the DC Police if I find evidence that will help them in an investigation they’re conducting. That’s an essential requirement of any case I take, and I could lose my license if I violate it.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“I assure you, Mrs. Simmons, I want to find Cassandra as much as you do, and I’ll be working hard to make that happen.”

“I just hope you can find her soon. The longer she’s missing, the more I’m afraid she’s . . .”

She stopped in midsentence when her emotions seemed to get the best of her, and when she bowed her head and didn’t continue, Leslie got up, walked over to her, and placed her hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. After she handed her a tissue from the box on the end table, she said, “You’re gonna make it through this. It’s gonna be okay.”

After Kathleen wiped her tears, she said, “Oh, I know I’ll be okay. No matter what happens, God will take care of me. He always has, and he always will.”

Leslie, who seemed uncomfortable whenever the subject of faith came up, glanced over at me as if she expected me to respond to her.

I said, “If it’s any consolation, Mrs. Simmons, I’ve been praying God will give me wisdom to know what’s happened to your daughter.”

Kathleen smiled for the first time. “I appreciate your telling me that, Mr. Grey. Now I’m sure you’ll find her.”

“Please call me Mylas. We don’t stand on formality at my agency.”

“And I’d rather you call me Kathleen. I haven’t been called Mrs. Simmons since I taught third grade.”

After we chatted for a few minutes about her teaching career, Kathleen walked us to the door, but before she opened it, I said, “If you think of something that might help us, please call the number on my card. I promise to call you as soon as I find anything that might be relevant to Cassandra’s disappearance.”

“Thank you so much.”

After Leslie gave her a hug and told her she should get some rest, we walked down the sidewalk and got in the car before we said anything to each other.

However, the moment Leslie turned on the ignition, she looked over at me and said, “Next time, could you give me a warning before you tear up the script we were supposed to be using?”

“And miss the look on your face?”

She laughed. “What made you change your mind?”

“I just felt like pretending to be someone we weren’t so she would invite us in wasn’t the right thing to do. From the way you responded to Kathleen, I was pretty sure you agreed with my decision.”

“You’re right, I did. It was so heartbreaking to see her dealing with a missing daughter while she’s also going through chemotherapy.”

“To be honest, Leslie, this is a side of you I haven’t seen before.”

She let out a short laugh. “I’m sure that’s true. Everyone sees me as a tough, aggressive woman, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my softer side a secret between the two of us.”

“Sure, no problem.”

She didn’t say anything for twenty seconds or so, and then after she merged into traffic on the freeway, she said, “I know I’ve told you that my father is a surgeon and my mother’s a radiologist, but what I didn’t tell you was that when I was growing up as an only child, they expected me to choose medicine as my career.”

I chuckled. “No offense, but I can’t really see you as a doctor.”

“No, me neither, but it wasn’t until I became a teenager that I realized if I didn’t become more strong-willed and assertive, then I’d never be able to make my own choices. From then on, I started standing up for myself, and that’s how I got my hard-nosed reputation.”

“As an investigator, those are good traits to have, especially with some of the people we encounter.”

“That’s true, but it’s hard for me to have that attitude when I come across someone like Kathleen who’s been through so much already and is facing even more heartache.”

“I hope she’ll feel a little better after we get some answers for her about Cassandra. That’s why I’m anxious to start asking questions.” I gestured toward the clock on the car’s dashboard. “Classes are about to dismiss for the day at the Red Shield Academy, so if it’s okay with you, I’d like to head over there to see if we can talk to some people.”

“I’m all for it. You wanna enter the address on the GPS? I’m not familiar with where that school is located.”

After I did that, she asked, “Do you have someone specific in mind you wanna talk to at the Red Shield Academy?”

“First, I’d like to speak to Beth Rizzo, the Counseling Coordinator. She’s Cassandra’s immediate supervisor.”

“That makes sense. Let’s hope she’s willing to talk to us.”

“I have a feeling she might be. I saw her on a news special about Cassandra last night, and she didn’t seem the least bit reluctant to answer the reporter’s questions.”

“I have to believe Director Pogue is also on your list.”

“Yeah, but getting an interview with him may not be that easy, especially if he had anything to do with Cassandra’s disappearance.”

“Are you serious? Why would you think the director had something to do with it?”

After I told her what Nina had found out about Pogue and his wife being friends with Fasano, I said, “Nina also discovered that when Raul Hernandez violated his parole, he was on Frosty’s payroll as one of his drivers, which proves he definitely knows Frosty.”

“So I guess that makes his claim about burying Cassandra all the more believable.”

“Uh-huh, that’s why I’m having Chase run surveillance on Frosty, and I may also do the same for Riley Pogue.” I gestured toward a three-story brick building with a sign on the front lawn. “I’ll make that decision after I see what happens here at the school.”

The upper one-third of the marquee-type sign was the school’s logo—a red shield—and beneath it were neon-red letters outlined in black which spelled out “Red Shield Academy.”

The bottom one-third of the marquee was the message board, which consisted of interchangeable letters on a white plastic background.

The current message was “We miss you, Ms. Simmons.”

* * * * * *

When Leslie pulled into the parking lot at the high school, it was still half-full, although the students had already been dismissed. I figured that meant the remaining vehicles belonged to the staff and faculty, so there was a good chance Beth Rizzo was still in the building.

As we walked up the sidewalk towards the front entrance, Leslie said, “Just to be sure we’re on the same page, we’re playing this straight, aren’t we? I am who I am. You are who you are.”

“Yes, but now, we’re representing Kathleen Simmons, and if it’s necessary, I’m prepared to make a big deal about that.”

When we got up to the front door, two girls in cheerleading outfits were exiting the building at the same time, so they held the door open for us.

They were giggling the whole time.

I wasn’t sure why.

As we entered the building, I spotted a directory mounted on the wall to our right, but as we were about to take a look at it, a young guy dressed in a brown uniform with a security badge pinned to his pocket walked up to us. “Could I help you?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said, “we’re looking for the office of Beth Rizzo.”

“Ms. Rizzo’s office is here on the first floor, Room 114.” He pointed down the hallway to his left. “That’s the first door on the right after you get to the end of this hallway.”

“Okay, thanks. I believe we can find it.”

“I’d offer to show it to you myself,” he said, looking down at his watch, “but I’m off the clock now.”

“Not a problem. Have a good evening.”

“I will, Detective, and you do the same.”

When he grinned at me, I saw him glance down at my waist, which made me realize he must have noticed the bulge of my gun holster and just assumed I was with the DC Police.

When Leslie and I began walking down the hallway toward Beth Rizzo’s office, she said, “Hmm. It’s a little weird he knew you were a detective when you didn’t introduce yourself.”

I shook my finger at her. “Nope. I’m not a detective.”

She raised her hands. “Oh, I’m so sorry. What was I thinking? You’re a private investigator. Your father’s the private detective.”

When I interviewed Leslie for a position at MGI, I told her I considered myself an investigator and not a private detective. I explained the differences between the two by pointing out what kind of cases I would be investigating at MGI as compared to the ones my father handled at the Kelvin Grey Detective Agency, and even though I joked with her about the penalties for referring to me as a detective, I was serious about my title—and maybe a little obsessive as well.

“I think the guard must have noticed I was carrying a gun,” I said, “and he just assumed I was a police detective.”

“Yeah, he’s probably seen several police detectives around the building in the last few weeks.”

“While I’m sure that’s true, he should have asked me some questions as soon as he saw I was carrying. I have to believe that’s his job as a security guard.”

She pointed at the clock at the end of the hallway where it showed five minutes after four. “No, he said he’s off the clock, so I guess his job’s over for the day.”

“If that’s his attitude, then I hope nobody around here ever needs help after four o’clock.”

“You mean somebody like Cassandra?”

“Yes,” I said, as I opened the door to Room 114, “somebody like Cassandra.”

Chapter 9

When Leslie and I stepped into Beth Rizzo’s outer office, we found ourselves alone in a small reception area that contained a desk with a wide-screen computer monitor, two file cabinets, and a half-dozen chairs along one wall.

The way the desk was neatly arranged led me to believe the person who usually sat there had left for the day.

To the left of the desk was a door with a nameplate that read, “Beth Rizzo, Counseling Coordinator.” Although I could hear a female talking on the other side of the door, I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

I pointed over to the chairs and suggested we have a seat and wait a few minutes before I knocked on the door.

We hadn’t been there for more than a couple of minutes before the door opened, and Beth Rizzo stepped out.

She had her cell phone up to her ear, and before she cut herself off, we heard her say, “I agree with your analysis, but I still believe . . .”

However, once she saw us sitting there, she said, “I’m sorry, Jennifer, but I have someone waiting to speak to me. I’ll have to call you back.”

When she hung up, she immediately walked over to us. “Please forgive me. I apologize. I had no idea anyone was out here.” She offered me her hand. “I’m Beth Rizzo, the Counseling Coordinator.”

As I was shaking her hand, I said, “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Mylas Grey, the chief investigator at Mylas Grey Investigations, and this is my associate, Leslie Irving.”

After the two ladies greeted each other, Beth said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Grey?”

“I’d like to ask you some questions in connection with the disappearance of Cassandra Simmons.”

She hesitated a second. “Are you here because of the interview I gave the journalist for the TV special on Cassandra last night? If so, I can’t speak to you. Our director has instructed the faculty to check with him before we give any more interviews about her.”

“No, we’re not here because of that program, although I did happen to catch it last night. We’re here representing Kathleen Simmons. She hired my agency to look into her daughter’s disappearance.”

She nodded. “Oh, I see. To be truthful, that doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure she’s frustrated with the police for not being able to find Cassandra. That was the main reason I agreed to talk to the reporter. I was hoping the publicity would help them locate her.”

“From what you said in that interview, it sounded like you knew her pretty well.”

She looked distressed. “I hate to think of Cassandra in the past tense. I just keep hoping and praying she’s okay, and she’ll turn up here at the school any day now.”

Leslie said, “We’re hoping the same thing, and of course, her mother’s desperate to know what happened to her.”

“Oh, I can just imagine.” Her face clouded over for a moment. “I’ve changed my mind. Since Cassandra’s mother hired you, I feel obligated to answer your questions.” She motioned toward her inner office. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat? I’m sure Director Pogue will understand.”

We didn’t argue with her.

* * * * * *

Beth’s inner office had a small conference table opposite her desk, and once we were seated around it, I told her how much I appreciated her taking the time to talk with us, and then I began by asking her to tell me about the last time she spoke to Cassandra.

“It was after lunch on the day she disappeared.”

“Where did that conversation take place?”

She swept her hand around the room. “Right here in this office. She came by to get my opinion on a proposal she wanted to present to Director Pogue.”

“How would you describe her demeanor? Did she seem upset? Was she anxious or worried about anything?”

“No, not at all. In fact, it was just the opposite. She was very excited when I told her I approved her proposal, and I wanted her to speak to Director Pogue about it right away.”

“What kind of proposal was it?”

“Cassandra wanted to add a Life Skills Course to the curriculum. She was concerned that while our students were making advances academically, they weren’t being taught practical skills that would help them in the real world. She had at least a dozen things she wanted every student to know before they graduated—things like making a budget, filling out a job application, opening a bank account—basically, just practical things no one at home was teaching them.”

Leslie nodded. “Cassandra’s mother told us she was very wrapped up in the lives of her students, so I can understand why she was concerned they weren’t being taught some basic skills.”

“That describes Cassandra perfectly,” Beth said. “She took a personal interest in all of her students. Not only did she know them by name, she also knew something about their home life.”

“You’re certainly not describing someone who would just walk away from her responsibilities,” I said.

“No, I don’t believe Cassandra just walked away from her life.”

I asked, “Do you have any theories about what might have happened to her?”

She shrugged. “The only thing I can think of is that someone must have grabbed her when she was walking to her bus stop. As to why they might do that, I don’t want to even think about it.”

Leslie asked, “So you don’t think something happened to her here at the school?”

“Of course, that’s a possibility, but there aren’t that many people in the building after four-thirty, and as I understand it, one of our janitors spoke to her in her office around four-fifteen.”

I asked, “What time do the faculty usually leave?”

“Most of the faculty leave between four and four-thirty, and administrative personnel leave between four-thirty and five. The building isn’t officially closed until five o’clock.”

“Would you happen to know who was in the building after four-thirty on January 11?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have any idea.” She paused a moment. “I say that, but usually, when I walk out to the parking lot, it’s obvious who hasn’t left by how many cars are still there. Of course, that doesn’t take into account everyone, because there are some faculty who take the Metro like Cassandra did.”

“What about January 11?” I asked. “Do you remember what time you went out to the parking lot that day?”

“Yes, but that’s only because the police came by the school the next day to ask us about Cassandra, and I remember telling them I left at four-thirty. They also asked us if we saw anything out of the ordinary around the school, but I couldn’t recall seeing anything unusual.”

“What about the cars in the parking lot when you were leaving? Do you remember how many there were?”

She closed her eyes for a second as she thought about my question. “Let’s see. There weren’t that many. I remember seeing a few of the administrative staff, a couple of faculty members, and of course our two janitors, who are always here until seven o’clock.”

I looked down at my phone where I’d saved the school’s personnel directory Nina had sent me earlier. “The administrative staff includes the director, assistant director, academic and guidance counselors, librarians, and secretaries, is that right?”

“That sounds right. Director Pogue is usually the last person to leave, and I remember seeing his Chevy Suburban parked in his designated parking spot. The academic counselor and assistant director walked out of the building with me, so they didn’t stay past four-thirty. The librarian drives a red Dodge van, and she was parked next to me, but I saw her come out of the building as I was leaving.”

“What about the secretaries?

“We have three secretaries, but only Director Pogue’s secretary, Anne Bailey, drives her own car. The other two take the Metro.”

“So was Ms. Bailey’s car in the parking lot when you left?”

“No, she called in sick that day. So I guess the only cars in the parking lot that day belonged to the director, the janitors, and two faculty members. One of those faculty was Mr. Johnson, our art director. He stays late because he has to pick up his wife at five o’clock, and she only works a block away. I also remember seeing Mrs. McKinney’s gray Honda Accord. She’s one of our history teachers, and she’s always running late.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, putting away my phone, “that’s very helpful.”

Beth gestured toward me. “As I was leaving the parking lot, I also remember seeing an SUV parked in a guest parking spot at the side of the building, but I immediately recognized it as belonging to a member of the Red Shield’s advisory board. I just assumed he was there to see Director Pogue.”

“Do you know the name of the board member?”

“Yes, he’s the real estate developer, Frosty Fasano.”

* * * * * *

It took a lot of self-control for me not to show any reaction to the news Frosty Fasano was in the Red Shield building the day Cassandra went missing.

I only managed to do it by pulling my phone out of my pocket and pretending to check something on my notes. “Let me see if I’ve covered everything.” After a few seconds, I said, “Yes, I believe so.”

“Well, if you think of something else, I’ll—”

“Actually, I do have one more thing to ask you. Would you have any idea when Cassandra was going to speak to Director Pogue about her Life Skills Course? Did she mention a specific time?”

“No, but she was so excited, I just assumed she was planning to contact Ms. Bailey to make an appointment to see him ASAP. Our director is pretty busy, so it’s not easy to get on his schedule.”

“You said Ms. Bailey wasn’t here on January 11, didn’t you?”

“Yes, she called in sick that day.”

“Do you think Cassandra might have tried to speak to Director Pogue after classes were dismissed on January 11?”

Beth glanced off to the side and appeared to think about the question for several seconds. “Uh . . . yes, it’s certainly possible. She was pretty anxious to talk to him.”

When she looked back at me, she said, “But if that happened, the director would have mentioned it to the police, and according to the news reports, Jesse Delaney, one of our janitors, was the last person to see her.”

I said, “The police don’t always give the media the most up-to-date information on the investigation, but that’s certainly a question we could ask Director Pogue when we speak to him.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t count on seeing him today. Ms. Bailey is very protective of Director Pogue’s schedule, so she’ll probably insist on making the appointment for tomorrow, or maybe even the next day.”

“I appreciate that information,” I said, “and thank you for your time. May I call you if we think of any other questions we need to ask you?”

“Oh, yes. Let me give you my card.”

When Beth stood up and walked over to her desk, Leslie and I followed her, and while we were standing there, I happened to notice a memo on top of a stack of papers—or rather I happened to notice it because I was doing my usual snooping.

The memo was from Director Pogue, and the subject line was “Update on the Senate Oversight Committee for Educational Grants Inquiry.”

The print was too small for me to read the body of the memo, but the fact that Pogue knew the OCEG committee was investigating how the Red Shield Academy was using their grant funds was interesting.

I made a mental note to bring it up with him.

Once Beth handed me her card, I asked her where Cassandra’s office was located, and where we could find the director’s office.

She had us follow her out to the hallway, where she pointed down the corridor to her left and said, “Cassandra’s office is up on the second floor, and the director’s office is at the end of this hallway by the stairs on the right-hand side. You can’t miss it. There’s a sign on the door that says, ‘Office of the Director.’ ”

There was no one in the hallway as Leslie and I made our way down to Pogue’s office, and since both the students and faculty had left for the day, the only sound we heard was our footsteps echoing on the polished floors.

It made for an eerie silence.

The hallway ended in a stairway with wide steps leading up to the second floor, and just as Beth had described it, Pogue’s office was to the right of the stairwell.

After I tapped lightly on the door, we heard someone say, “Come in,” and when we did, we found a middle-aged woman standing by a coat rack putting on her coat.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

After I introduced myself, I handed her my business card. “My agency has been hired by Kathleen Simmons to investigate the disappearance of Cassandra, and we’d like to have a few minutes of Director Pogue’s time to ask him some questions about Cassandra.”

She shook her head. “Director Pogue has already left for the day.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to see him tomorrow.”

“I’m his secretary, Anne Bailey. I believe he’s booked up all day tomorrow but let me take a look.”

She removed her coat, hung it back up, and walked over to her computer where she jiggled her mouse a little. When the screen came to life, she clicked on a tab and brought up some scheduling software.

“It looks like he just has one opening tomorrow. However, it’s at nine o’clock in the morning. I’m sorry, but that’s it.”

I got the distinct impression she thought I wouldn’t find that time slot acceptable.

“That’s perfect,” I said. “I’ll be here at nine.”

After she typed in my name on her computer, she said, “Okay, I have you down at nine o’clock for a thirty-minute appointment.”

I smiled at her. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Uh . . . are there any questions you’d like to ask me about Cassandra?”

I nodded. “Sure, as long as you have the time.”

“I have a few minutes before I need to leave.”

“Did you know Cassandra?”

“Of course I did. I know all the faculty and staff here.”

“Did you talk to her on the day she disappeared?”

“That was January 11.” She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t here that day. I wasn’t feeling well, so I took a sick day.”

“When you’re not here, does someone take your place?”

She looked surprised at my question. “Absolutely not. Director Pogue told me he wouldn’t be comfortable using a temp for my position. We only bring in temporary help for the main office.”

Ms. Bailey’s attitude seemed a little hostile toward me, so I decided to have Leslie ask her some questions.

I motioned toward her. “Do you have any questions, Leslie?”

She nodded. “Yes, I was wondering if you’d mind giving us your opinion about what happened to Cassandra?”

Ms. Bailey shook her head. “I have no idea what happened to her. In the world we live in today, it could be anything. She appeared to be a nice young lady, but you never know. Maybe she went somewhere she shouldn’t have, and the situation got out of hand. I can’t say she ever showed any indication she could be a drug user, but that’s not always obvious, is it? I just think with her disappearing like that, it’s possible she was leading a secret life.”

After Leslie and I thanked Ms. Bailey for her time, we left her office and headed back out to the parking lot. The moment we walked out the front door, Leslie said, “Can you believe that woman? She implied all sorts of horrible things about Cassandra in just a couple of sentences.”

“Yeah, you gotta wonder what happened to make her such a cynical person. Or maybe Cassandra did something that rubbed her the wrong way, and she hasn’t gotten over it.”

“You mean like speak to the director without an appointment?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, that would do it.”

As we were leaving the parking lot, Leslie looked over at me. “When we were talking to Beth, I got the feeling you were wondering if Cassandra stopped in to see Director Pogue about her proposal before she left the building on January 11.”

“Yep, that’s what I was asking myself, all right.”

“If he saw her, the news report didn’t mention it.”

“He might not have seen her. Beth told us Frosty Fasano was also visiting Pogue. Perhaps she encountered Frosty instead of Pogue.”

“You mean Cassandra could have left the building with Frosty?”

“In light of what Raul Hernandez said, I think that’s a possibility.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Mylas. That behavior doesn’t fit with the picture I have of Cassandra. I see her as the cautious type, not someone who would go off with a complete stranger.”

“I feel the same way. However, I don’t know what kind of enticement Frosty might have offered her.”

“Maybe it wasn’t enticement. Maybe it was coercion.”

“Or maybe it was none of the above. At any rate, I hope to get some answers when I see Pogue in the morning.”

“I’m just sorry I can’t come with you.”

Although I said the polite thing and told her I was sorry she was tied up and couldn’t come with me, that wasn’t true.

I wanted to have Kyle Ford with me.

I figured if I needed to engage in a little coercion of my own, he would be the better partner.

Chapter 10

When Leslie dropped me off at my house, Mrs. Higbee told me dinner had been delayed for an hour because Joe had turned off the water when he was repairing a bathroom faucet, and it had messed up her dinner preparation.

I assured her it was fine, and I wasn’t that hungry yet.

Even so, when I said I’d be in my study making some phone calls, she insisted I take a plate of veggies and spinach dip with me.

The moment I put the plate down on my desk and took a seat in my chair, Babe walked in and stared at me with his I’m-just-a-poor-starving-dog-who-never-gets-enough-to-eat look.

“This isn’t red meat, you know,” I said, picking up a carrot stick and popping it in my mouth. “It’s just rabbit food.”

Whether it was the mention of rabbit, or food, or the fact that he saw I was eating something, he licked his chops a couple of times.

Following that, he grinned at me.

“Okay, if you insist.”

I picked up a celery stick and offered it to him.

He grabbed it and immediately chomped down on it, although he gave me the side eye, as if he were asking, “How old was that rabbit anyway?”

“You wanna try one of these?” I asked, holding up a broccoli floret.

He let out a short bark, so I offered it to him, but once he sniffed it, he immediately refused to take it.

“Smart dog,” I said. “They’re much better smothered in dip.”

Except for the broccoli, the two of us shared the rest of the veggies, and as we were eating, I texted Reed and asked him to give me a call when he was available.

He texted me back that it would be about twenty minutes, so while I was waiting, I decided to call Whitney.

When she answered, she sounded tired, and that’s what I told her.

“Yes, I’m absolutely exhausted. It’s been so long since I’ve moved, I’ve forgotten how hard it is, plus I didn’t realize I had so much stuff.”

“You’re not moving to a smaller house, so at least you can take it all with you.”

“Are you kidding? When I started pulling stuff out, I decided if I hadn’t used it in five years, I wasn’t gonna move it. That’s the reason half of my garage is filled with things I’m donating.”

“Really? That’s a lot of stuff.”

“Wait a second.” She let out a short laugh. “Have you ever moved before? I’m talking about a whole house full of stuff.”

“Uh . . . no, I guess not. When I moved into Mac’s place, all I brought with me were a few boxes of personal stuff and some bedroom furniture. Everything else was already here. But I promise you, when you get to Washington, I’ll help you unpack all your boxes.”

“It’s a deal. That is, if you think your shoulder will be healed enough by that time.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s getting better every day, although it’s always a little painful when I finish my rehab.”

“Are you having rehab every day?”

“I’ve had it for the last couple of days, but I don’t have it tomorrow. I go back on Thursday and Friday."

“I bet you’re bored sitting around the house all day, aren’t you?”

“Uh . . . no, not really. Joe asked me to help his friend with a problem, and that’s been keeping me busy.”

“Keeping you busy at home, or have you and Joe been going somewhere?”

“A little of both.”

She laughed. “I may not be an astute investigator like you, but I get the feeling you’re not telling me something—like maybe you’re working when you’re not supposed to be working.”

“Well, kinda. It’s not really work, though. I’ve only been a couple of places and interviewed a few people.”

“I would ask you to tell me about Joe’s problem, but I haven’t had time to take a shower yet, and one of my girlfriends is taking me out to eat tonight. I’m sorry, but I need to be ready in ten minutes.”

“No problem. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“I look forward to hearing it. Don’t work too hard.”

“Work? You’re the one who’s doing all the work.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I love you, Mylas. Stay safe.”

“I love you, too, Whitney. I can’t wait for you to get here.”

* * * * * *

No sooner had I hung up from talking to Whitney than Chase Reed called me, and when I was answering the phone, a notice popped up on my computer screen that Nina had sent me an email.

I figured Nina’s email contained the research I’d asked her to do, and since I didn’t want to be distracted while I was talking to Reed, I didn’t open it. It was a good thing I didn’t.

Reed had a lot to tell me.

He began by describing how he and Hank had staked out Frosty Fasano’s real estate development facilities on Hillstone Drive north of Andrews Park yesterday afternoon.

“Liberty Landworks must be doing a thriving business. I’m guessing their main office building, plus the additional storage and equipment units, takes up around two acres, maybe even two and a half. It’s really pretty impressive.”

Reed went on to describe how many workers he saw and the amount of activity around the building, and then he told me about following Fasano to his residence later that evening.

“You were right about him having a driver as well as a bodyguard. The bodyguard sat in the front passenger seat, and Fasano was in the backseat talking on the phone from the time he left the office until they arrived at his house. Unfortunately for us, his residence is behind a brick wall in what appears to be a well-secured property, which includes an iron gate and dozens of security cameras.”

“It sounds like it won’t be easy trying to keep tabs on him.”

“You’ve got that right, so if you’re interested in knowing what’s going on behind that fence, we may need to use one of our drones and take a look at his property that way.”

“Right now, I don’t see any need to do that. I’m primarily interested in finding out if there’s any basis for believing Raul Hernandez was telling the truth when he said he helped Fasano bury Cassandra at a construction site.”

“Well then, I’m sure you’re gonna be interested to know that when Hank and I followed Fasano today, he made the rounds of three different locations where there’s construction going on.”

“Tell me about the sites, and what Fasano did when he went there.”

“First, he drove to a residential development called Briarwood Heights. These are single-family residences, and most of the homes are already built. In fact, some of them are occupied. He didn’t stay there very long. Mainly, he just talked to a couple of guys.

“The second location was the Oakridge Shopping Mall, which appears to be about two-thirds finished. The foundations for the big anchor stores are poured, and the steel frames are up, but some of the smaller stores are further along than that. While he was there, he looked over some blueprints with a couple of guys, and then after he put on a hardhat, he went over and observed the work being done on one of the retail stores.

“The last place he visited was the Riverbend Community Church. Their building is in the early stages of construction. The foundation is still being laid, and excavation work is still being done. There wasn’t a very large crew there, and basically, he just spent a few minutes walking around the property.”

Once Reed gave me the addresses of the three sites, I asked him, “After being at these three locations, which one would you pick if you needed to bury a body?”

“I’d eliminate the residential development right away. Like I said, most of those houses are already occupied, so someone might remember if a vehicle showed up at a construction site after dark.”

“You’re right. It starts getting dark here around five o’clock these days, so that’s something I need to keep in mind.”

“If Frosty did bury her at one of these construction sites, I’d say it was probably the church site. It’s off the main road on a large piece of property, and the work is just getting started. If he showed up there after dark, there wouldn’t be anyone around to see him.”

“From what you’ve told me, that would also be my pick.”

Neither one of us said anything for a couple of seconds.

Finally, Reed said, “If that’s what he did, then he’s one despicable human being, and I hope you find the evidence to prove it.”

“I’d rather find Cassandra alive, but yes, I agree with you.”

After I updated him about my visit with Kathleen and my interview with Beth Rizzo, I told him I had an appointment with Riley Pogue in the morning. “Depending on how that goes, I may also want you to put a surveillance team on Pogue.”

“How do you figure he’s involved in Cassandra’s disappearance?”

“I’m not sure he is, but I won’t get a sense of that until I have a face-to-face meeting with him, and even then, I might not be able to tell. The guy hasn’t given any interviews, so I have no idea what to expect.”

“Is Leslie going with you?”

“No, I’m taking Kyle, or rather he’s taking me. I figure the two of us together ought to be able to get some answers out of him.”

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, the guy won’t stand a chance.”

* * * * * *

As soon as I got off the phone with Reed, I clicked on Nina’s email. It contained two attachments in the form of documents: “A Profile of Riley Pogue” and “Items of Interest on Frosty Fasano.”

Just as I suspected, it would take me several minutes to read through all her research, so I started with the two-page Riley Pogue profile first. I figured I should be able to get through it before Mrs. Higbee called me for dinner.

His profile included his educational background as well as his work history. Pogue did his undergraduate work at the University of Illinois and received a master’s degree in educational leadership at Northwestern. His first job was as a special education teacher, and from there, he moved into school administrative positions.

Nina also had some personal information about him. She noted most of the facts had come from an educational journal article where one of the editors had interviewed Pogue.

In the article, Pogue said he grew up on the south side of Chicago in a working-class neighborhood where both of his parents had to work multiple jobs to make ends meet. Although Pogue didn’t go into any detail, he said his family’s economic status exposed him to the harsh realities of poverty, and such experiences instilled in him a strong desire to help others in similar circumstances.

In the heading under “Family Life,” Nina listed his wife’s name, Angela, along with their two children, Camille and Martin. She also had a short section on Angela’s career, which she noted was “interesting.”

Angela Pogue was the Vice President of Government Relations for a trade association headquartered in Washington, D. C. I recognized the name of the trade group, American Alliance of Industry Leaders, because when I was with the McKinney Law Firm, we’d handled a case for them. I remembered they were paying the president of the organization extremely well, so more than likely, Angela was also drawing a high salary—certainly a lot more than her husband was making as the director of the Red Shield Academy.

I figured this was why Nina found Angela “interesting.”

The last section of Pogue’s profile was labeled “Financial Status.”

Although most of the details in this section were available through a variety of databases, I had no idea where Nina was able to obtain the rest, although I didn’t plan on questioning her about it.

The Pogue’s lived in a three-million-dollar residence in an upper-class neighborhood in the Bentley district, and their kids went to a private school. Their bank accounts and portfolio were well-funded.

Despite that, Nina made a short notation at the end of the financial section which said, “Their financial picture is stable now, but Riley made a risky investment in a start-up company four years ago. When it didn’t pay off, he almost had to declare bankruptcy. Within a year, though, his bottom line had increased substantially. I haven’t been able to learn the source of those funds, but today, the Pogues have no financial worries. I believe this information is especially relevant after what I learned about Fasano’s businesses.”

It was a little unusual for Nina to speculate about something if she didn’t have the facts to back it up, so I was anxious to read the document about Frosty Fasano.

However, I was only able to read the heading on her document entitled “Frosty’s Secret Connections” before Mrs. Higbee appeared at the door to announce that dinner was ready.

I thought about that heading several times while I was eating.

* * * * * *

Once I returned to my study after eating a delicious dinner—seared sea bass, roasted asparagus, parmesan risotto, and dark chocolate soufflé—I sat down at my computer and read about “Frosty’s Secret Connections.”

The “secret” part of the headline had to do with Frosty being a secret partner in other businesses which had nothing to do with real estate development.

There were four of them: a hotel chain, a janitorial supply company, a food distribution company, and a car rental business.

Nina had descriptions for each one, and after I read through them, I finally got to the part of the document that had to do with the “connections” part of her heading.

She had done a deep data dive on each of the businesses and discovered the Red Shield Academy had contracts with two of Frosty’s secret businesses—ToughKleen Solutions, a janitorial supply company, and Harvest Valley Foods, a food distribution company.

It certainly wasn’t unusual for someone to invest in a business other than their own company, and from a legal standpoint, there were several kinds of silent partners. Some silent partners had little or no input in the day-to-day operations—although a partner’s identity was known to everyone in the company—whereas some silent partners were involved in the decision-making, but they preferred to remain anonymous, except to the other partners.

There were nuances to both extremes, and since Nina hadn’t included any definition as to what she meant by Fasano being a silent partner, I decided I had to give her a call.

“I hope I’m not calling you too late,” I said.

“Of course not. You know I’m a night owl.” She let out a short laugh. “Let me guess why you’re calling. You were blown away by Frosty’s other business connections, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. You’ve done some excellent research here. I’ve got a couple of questions, though. As far as Frosty being a silent partner, what type of partner is he? For example, does everyone know who he is, but he’s not involved in the business, or is he an anonymous partner that makes decisions about the day-to-day details of the business?”

“Frosty has no operational involvement, but the other partner knows his identity. When I say he has no operational involvement, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t influential in getting contracts with the Red Shield Academy for two of those companies.”

“I figured that, and what do you think the chances are that Pogue received some kind of kickback for signing contracts with them?”

“I’d say pretty big. Pogue’s bank account has increased substantially since he became friends with Frosty, but frankly, I thought you’d be more interested in Luis Garza and the possibility that he and Frosty are laundering money through the Red Shield Academy.”

“Hold on. You’ve lost me. What are you talking about? I didn’t see anything about money laundering or anyone named Luis Garza.”

“It’s right there in black and white on the second page of Frosty’s Secret Connections. Or did you call me before you got to the second page?”

I checked my computer. “Oh, yeah, here it is.” When I realized it was three pages long, I said, “Could you summarize this for me?”

“No problem. I’m sure you remember what I discovered about Frosty’s background, that he grew up in a rough neighborhood where his peers were running with the wrong crowd, and he credits his mother with keeping him on the straight and narrow. Well, evidently, she didn’t keep him from being friends with Luis Garza, who became a drug dealer in his early twenties.”

Nina said when she noticed that Luis Garza was listed as the owner of the ToughKleen Solutions company, as well as the Harvest Valley Foods business, she did some research on Garza and discovered he and Frosty were from the same neighborhood.

“When I checked Garza’s background, I discovered he had a criminal record and served two years in jail for drug possession with intent to distribute when he was twenty-two. The evidence presented at his trial indicated he was working for the Zeta drug cartel out of Mexico City. When he got out of jail, he went to work for Frosty, but five years ago, he purchased these two businesses, along with Frosty.”

“Garza must have been making a good salary for those five years, or did Frosty foot the entire bill for both companies?”

“It’s an equal partnership financially, although I suspect the Zeta drug cartel is the source of the money Garza put down.”

Nina backed up her claim by citing a story by an investigative journalist in a Washington newspaper about drug cartels buying legitimate businesses and using them to distribute drugs as well as launder their drug money.

“In that article, the Zeta cartel bought a parcel delivery service, and the entire upper management was on the cartel’s payroll. Not only was the delivery service a perfect front for distributing their product, they also laundered their money through it because it was a legitimate business.”

“So you’re speculating that the same thing is going on with ToughKleen Solutions and Harvest Valley Foods. You believe Garza and Fasano are using it for drug distribution and money laundering.”

“At the moment I’m speculating about it, but by tomorrow, I may have some proof to back it up. And no, don’t ask me what it is. I promise to tell you as soon as I know.”

“Okay, but are you also saying Pogue and the Red Shield Academy are involved in this illegal activity with Frosty and Garza?”

“I see that as a possibility, at least with the money laundering. Here’s how it could work: Frosty could invoice the school for more of whatever product was needed, or he could even inflate the cost of a product, and then he could funnel some of the excess back to Pogue.”

“Here’s a detail that may have relevance to the research you’re doing. When Leslie and I were at the Red Shield Academy today, we learned that Frosty was visiting Pogue around four-thirty on the day Cassandra disappeared.”

“Wow! That’s interesting. How did you find that out?”

Once I told her about our visit with Kathleen, and that she’d officially hired MGI to look into Cassandra’s disappearance, I described the information we’d learned from Beth Rizzo, and that I’d made an appointment to see Pogue at nine o’clock in the morning.

“Are you gonna ask Pogue about his relationship with Frosty?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. Do you think you’ll have verification about whether he and Frosty are involved in a money laundering scheme before I meet with him tomorrow morning?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not a miracle worker, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

PART THREE

Chapter 11

Wednesday, January 26

Even though I told Mrs. Higbee I’d make my own breakfast since I needed to leave the house an hour earlier than usual, when I arrived downstairs, she had bacon, eggs, and biscuits waiting for me.

Shortly after I sat down, I received a text from Ford that he was parked outside my security gate. He said he knew he was early, but he didn’t mind waiting.

I immediately went over to the security console and let him in the gate, and then when he arrived at the circle drive in front of the house, I met him and invited him inside. “I haven’t finished eating,” I said, “and my housekeeper always makes enough for an army, so come in and have some breakfast with me. We have a few minutes before we need to leave, and you’re definitely gonna want one of her biscuits.”

“That sounds great. I’m sorry I’m so early. I’m used to getting up at the crack of dawn.” He stood there in the driveway a minute and looked up at the house. “I heard Mac had a nice house, but I had no idea it was this big. How many rooms does it have?”

I was still telling him about the house when we arrived in the kitchen, where I immediately noticed Mrs. Higbee had already laid out a place setting for him. I figured that meant she was listening in on our conversation through the audio on the security camera, which was probably why she had a guilty grin on her face as I introduced them.

Ford said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Higbee. I’ve heard Mylas brag about your cooking skills several times.”

She beamed. “It’s nice to meet you too, Kyle. Have a seat, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

While she was getting him some coffee, we sat down at the breakfast table, which was directly across from a window overlooking the backyard, where we could see Babe searching through some bushes at the edge of the property beyond the swimming pool.

Ford motioned toward the window. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that’s the famous Babe. I have a German Shepherd about the same size, so we’ll have to get them together sometime.”

For the rest of the meal, Ford talked about getting a dog after his wife passed away, and other changes he’d made in his life. “By far, the biggest change I’ve made is becoming a private investigator. When I met with my first client yesterday, it dawned on me that I might need to develop a different skill set than when I was a homicide detective.”

“What kind of different skill set?”

“Like I need to be less intimidating and more charming and persuasive.”

I didn’t disagree with Ford then, but when we were driving over to the Red Shield Academy in his Jeep Cherokee, I returned to our conversation about his skill set.

“Now that you’re in the private sector, I realize you may need to adjust your thinking about how you relate to people, especially our clients, but I don’t mind if Riley Pogue sees you as a little intimidating during our appointment today.”

He chuckled. “Okay. Why is that?”

“After I update you about what I’ve learned about the Red Shield Academy, and the events that transpired the last day Cassandra was seen at the school, I think you’ll understand."

I gave him a brief rundown about the Red Shield Academy being funded through federal grants and donations from private businesses, and then I told him what Nina had discovered about Frosty Fasano, including that he was on the school’s advisory board, and that he and his wife were good friends with Riley Pogue and his wife.

“Do you think Pogue knows about Fasano’s shady character?”

“I think there’s a good chance he does, and in fact, some of Fasano’s shadiness may have rubbed off on him as well.”

I went over what Nina had turned up on Director Pogue—how he grew up poor, became a teacher, and ended up in Washington when his wife landed a job with a prestigious trade association. “The Pogues are living in a luxurious neighborhood, and from all appearances appear to be doing extremely well.”

“I assume you mean because of his wife’s job, because being the director of a private high school funded by a federal grant probably doesn’t pay that much.”

“Although I’m sure his wife’s employment has something to do with his good fortune, I suspect his friendship with Frosty does too.”

After I summarized what Nina had uncovered about Fasano’s connection with the two companies who were supplying food and janitorial services to the high school, I said, “Although Frosty is a silent partner in the two companies, Luis Garza, one of Frosty’s boyhood friends, is listed as the owner. And here’s the kicker—in the past, Garza has been linked to the Zeta drug cartel.”

“I’ve heard the name Luis Garza before. If I’m not mistaken, we’ve received some anonymous tips about Garza moving more than just inventory out of his back door. But you’re not suggesting that Frosty and Garza are using the high school to distribute drugs, are you?”

“No, I’d be surprised if that were the case. What Nina suspects is that Pogue is helping Frosty launder their drug money by using ToughKleen Solutions and Harvest Valley Foods as vendors at the school, and subsequently, Pogue is benefitting financially as well.”

“Does she actually have proof of this?”

“She said she’s working on it, and she sounded confident she’d have it for me fairly soon.”

“So how does Cassandra’s disappearance relate to what may be going on with Frosty and Pogue? Do you suspect she’s involved with their criminal activity?”

“After talking to Cassandra’s mother and the counseling coordinator at the high school, she doesn’t sound like the type of person who’d be associated with anything illegal, so for now, I’m working on a different scenario of what might have happened to her.”

We were a block from the Red Shield Academy when I finished summarizing what Beth Rizzo had told Leslie and me about Cassandra’s proposal for adding a Life Skills course to the curriculum, and how she was looking forward to presenting it to Director Pogue.

I said, “Since Pogue’s secretary, Ms. Bailey, was out of the office that day, I suspect Cassandra decided to speak to him about her proposal before she left the building. Cassandra’s office is up on the second floor, and his office is on the first floor next to the stairs, so I can easily envision her stopping in there to see him on her way out.”

Ford didn’t say anything as he turned into the parking lot of the high school, but once he pulled into a parking space and cut the engine, he looked over at me and said, “I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t see how Fasano fits into that picture.”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot to mention that Beth Rizzo noticed Fasano’s car was parked in a guest parking spot at around four-thirty, which was approximately the last time Cassandra was seen in her office.”

“So you’re thinking Fasano was in Pogue’s office that afternoon.”

“Yes, I can’t imagine where else he would have been.”

“Okay, so let’s say Cassandra stopped in to see Pogue on her way out of the building, and Fasano was also there. What do you think could have happened with the three of them that led to her disappearance?”

I shook my head. “It’s hard to say.” I pointed over to the building. “That’s why I’m here. I’m hoping Director Pogue will give me those answers.”

“If he’s guilty of something, I doubt if he’ll have anything to say.”

“Or it could be just the opposite.”

He let out a short laugh. “That’s true. He could say all kinds of things to throw us off track. Guilty people often operate that way.”

As we got out of the car and began walking up the sidewalk, he asked, “How do you want to play this? You wanna ask all the questions, or shall we do a version of good cop, bad cop?”

“Let’s go in friendly, build some rapport, and then I’ll start asking questions. If he begins hedging his answers, then why don’t you step in with your bad cop, and I’ll follow up with my good cop.”

“Got it.”

“By the way, I didn’t tell Ms. Bailey I was bringing someone with me today, so don’t be surprised if she’s a little snarky.”

“If she gets snarky, I’ll just use my charm on her.”

* * * * * *

A bell was ringing as we entered the building, and we suddenly found ourselves dodging students who were rushing to get to their classrooms before it stopped ringing.

Moments later, the halls were quiet.

Just before I opened the door to Director Pogue’s office, I saw Ford glance over at the stairwell. “Have you been up to the second floor to see Cassandra’s office yet?”

“No, but I’ll ask the director for permission to do that after we interview him.”

I figured Anne Bailey had heard our voices outside her office, because when we entered, she was sitting behind her desk with her hands folded in front of her, staring at the door.

“Good morning, Ms. Bailey,” I said. “We’re here for our nine o’clock appointment with Director Pogue. This is my associate investigator, Kyle Ford.”

Ford stepped forward and extended his hand toward her. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Bailey.”

She replied unenthusiastically, “Nice to meet you too,” and then she looked over at me. “Just to clarify, Mr. Grey, I wasn’t aware you were bringing anyone else with you today. Your name’s the only one on Director Pogue’s schedule for the nine o’clock time slot.”

“That’s entirely my fault, Ms. Bailey,” I said. “I should have made it clear I needed to bring someone with me since I can’t drive myself.”

She frowned and stared at my blue sling for a couple of seconds as if she were noticing it for the first time.

Ford reached over and touched me lightly on the shoulder. “Mylas isn’t gonna tell you this, but he recently took a couple of bullets in his shoulder when a hit man tried to kill him. He had to have surgery to remove them, and he’s still recuperating from it.”

Ms. Bailey looked shocked. “Oh my, that’s incredible.”

“I’m helping Mylas with his cases until he can drive again, so would it be too much trouble to ask Director Pogue if I could sit in on the interview?”

“Uh . . . no, I guess not. I’ll go ask him.”

Ms. Bailey went over and tapped lightly on the director’s door, and once she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, I smiled at Ford. “Nice technique, Detective.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this business, it’s that everyone likes to hear personal information about another person, especially something they weren’t expecting to hear. Once you tell them, it’s like they feel obligated to help you.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything.

Instead, I held up my hand and motioned toward Pogue’s office.

He immediately knew why.

Despite Pogue’s door being shut, we could hear what Ms. Bailey was telling him. It was similar to what happened when Leslie and I were in Beth Rizzo’s office, and we heard her talking on the phone.

However, even though we could hear Beth’s voice, we couldn’t make out what she was saying. That wasn’t true for Anne Bailey. I could easily understand what she was telling him.

She told Pogue I wasn’t alone, that I had a colleague with me, and that I was wearing a sling on my arm because I’d been shot and had to have surgery on my shoulder.

Pogue told her he didn’t mind seeing us both, so seconds later, Ms. Bailey opened the door and beckoned us inside.

“Please come in, Gentlemen. Director Pogue will see you now.”

* * * * * *

Pogue’s office was a blend of modesty and luxury. It had a massive polished mahogany desk at one end, and a cheap leather couch and two chairs at the other.

Along one wall was a bookcase, and next to it was a tall cabinet with doors on it, which I presumed also held books, although I couldn’t be certain since the doors were closed. On the opposite side, across from his desk, was an entertainment unit with a large screen TV.

Several expensive-looking knickknacks—a ceramic vase and a silver figurine—were displayed on the side shelves.

His desk chair was a high-end ergonomic model made of plush leather, whereas the guest chairs in front of his desk were wooden chairs with padded seats that didn’t look all that comfortable.

Anyone who didn’t know Pogue’s background might think his eclectic decorating choices were an attempt to identify with both ends of the economic spectrum.

However, after reading Nina’s research on him, I figured it was just a reflection of his modest upbringing and his present financial success, and he was equally comfortable with both.

Pogue, who had thinning brown hair, a high forehead, and protruding ears, stood up behind his desk and pointed at the chairs across from him. “Come in and have a seat, Gentlemen. I’m Riley Pogue, and I assume you know I’m the director here.”

“Director Pogue,” I said, leaning over his desk and offering him my hand, “I’m Mylas Grey, the chief investigator at Mylas Grey Investigations, and this is one of my associates, Kyle Ford.”

He shook our hands, and then as we sat down, he said, “I’m pleased to meet you both. I understand Kathleen Simmons hired you to find her daughter. Frankly, I’m surprised she thought it was necessary to go to that expense when the police are still in the preliminary stages of their investigation.”

I smiled at him. “I believe she thinks she’s increasing her chances of finding Cassandra this way. It’s the two-heads-are-better-than-one philosophy. I’m sure you understand that. You probably have several faculty members you call on to give you advice when you have a difficult problem to solve.”

“Yes, and I also have several who criticize me for how I solved the problem, not to mention an advisory board who have their own ideas about what I should do.”

“You can rest easy, Director Pogue, we’re not here to tell you what to do. We’re only interested in what you have to tell us about Cassandra Simmons. If you don’t mind, I’d like to begin by asking you to describe your relationship with her, and what you remember about the last time you spoke to her.”

He nodded and immediately picked up a silver ballpoint pen from his desk, which he started twirling between his thumb, index, and middle fingers, as if he were trying to make it spin in a circular pattern.

It was either a nervous gesture or a fidgety habit.

I listened carefully to what he said to determine which one it was.

“I had a good relationship with Cassandra,” he said. “She was dedicated to the welfare of our students and excellent at her job, and from what I could tell, she got along well with the rest of the faculty. I never had a complaint about her from anyone.”

I noticed he didn’t really answer my direct question to describe his relationship with her. Instead, he framed his answer—which sounded like he’d memorized it—in such a way that diverted my attention to the faculty.

“As to your second question, I—”

I interrupted him and tried a different approach.

“Before you answer that, how did you feel about Cassandra personally? What was your impression of her?”

He hesitated a moment, as if he wanted to be sure he was choosing the right word. “My . . . uh . . . impression of her was that she was a bright young woman who was always looking out for her students. Since she’d only been at the school a year, I didn’t really know her that well on a personal basis.”

“How often did the two of you meet together one-on-one?”

He laid his pen back down on the desk. “I’m sorry. I don’t really see how my answer will help you find Cassandra.”

He smiled when he said this, so I smiled back and said, “I’m just trying to put together a personality profile of her. If she’s an introvert and stays away from individual encounters, then I think there’d be less chance she’d accept a ride home from someone she barely knew on the evening she disappeared.”

“Cassandra wasn’t an introvert. She was very outgoing, and she wasn’t shy about speaking her mind. You knew where she stood on almost any issue, but she wasn’t obnoxious about it. As to whether she accepted a ride from someone that night, I really couldn’t say. Anything is possible, so that’s something you might want to look into.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t the day she disappeared. I didn’t speak to her that day.”

Although it wasn’t the question I asked him, it appeared to be at the forefront of his mind, so I went with it.

“Are you saying you didn’t see Cassandra at all that day?”

“No, I didn’t see her that day. Like I told the police detectives, I was in my office all day on January 11, except when I took a lunch break. As usual, I left the school a few minutes before five o’clock.”

“And when did Mr. Fasano leave the building?”

He stared at me without saying a word.

Seconds later, he picked up his ballpoint pen and began doing finger gymnastics with it again.

At that point, I concluded it was definitely a nervous gesture.

Chapter 12

Pogue continued staring at me for several seconds before placing the silver pen on top of a nearby yellow legal pad and leaning back in his chair, as if he’d made up his mind about something.

“Frankly, Mr. Grey, I find your question a little strange. What does Mr. Fasano have to do with Cassandra?”

“I’m not sure he does, but I understand he was at the Red Shield Academy on the afternoon of January 11, and since I assume he was here to speak to you, I thought you’d know when he left the building.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure why that information is relevant, but I certainly don’t mind answering your question. Mr. Fasano had a four o’clock appointment with me on January 11, and he left close to five o’clock. Now it’s your turn. Why did you want to know when Mr. Fasano left?”

“According to one of the news reports on Cassandra’s disappearance, she was in her office at four-fifteen, so when I was questioning someone here at the school, and they mentioned they saw Mr. Fasano’s vehicle in a guest parking spot around four-thirty, it occurred to me that if they were both leaving the building at the same time, he might have run into Cassandra.”

He shook his head. “I doubt if that happened. He left my office around five o’clock, but I’m sure he used the rear exit since it’s closer to guest parking, and more than likely, Cassandra would have left through the main entrance because it’s closer to where the Metro stops are located on Woodward Avenue.”

“Yes, that makes sense.” I wanted to see how he would respond when I returned to a question I’d originally asked him. “I’d like to follow up on something. You said you didn’t see Cassandra on the day she disappeared, but do you recall the last time you spoke to her?”

He looked away for a moment. “I believe it was the day before.” He appeared to think about it for a moment, and then he nodded vigorously. “Yes, that’s when it was. I saw her in the hallway outside my office the day before.”

“Do you remember what you talked about?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. She questioned me about a memo I sent out to the faculty that morning.”

“Would you mind telling me what the subject of that memo was?”

“Why would you—”

“I’m only asking so I can get a better picture of Cassandra’s personality. I’m trying to understand what she was passionate about, what upset her, what she was worried about, that sort of thing. Knowing her emotional temperature is crucial to figuring out whether she disappeared on her own or someone grabbed her.”

I wasn’t sure he believed me, but he said, “I wrote the memo to let the faculty know that a Senate oversight committee was auditing our federal grant money. I didn’t want them to be alarmed if they were contacted by a member of the committee.”

“What questions did Cassandra have about the memo?”

“Since she’d only been at the school a year, she wanted to know if this audit was something routine, or if there was a problem with our grant money. I told her it was just routine, and I assured her I wasn’t worried about it.”

“What about Cassandra? Were you able to tell if she was worried about the audit?”

He hesitated a moment. “Uh . . . it’s possible she was. Yes . . . come to think of it, it did seem to upset her. She was also dealing with her mother’s illness, so maybe things just got to be too much for her, and she decided to disappear. Like you mentioned, maybe she just went off on her own and left it all behind.”

Ford leaned forward and motioned toward Pogue. “What are your feelings about Frosty Fasano?”

Pogue appeared to be taken aback, and he quickly glanced over at me as if to gauge my reaction to Ford’s question. My reaction was to turn my head toward Ford and pretend to look surprised.

Pogue looked back over at Ford. “What do you mean?”

“Before joining Mylas Grey Investigations,” he said, “I was a homicide detective with the DC Police, so I know Fasano was accused of assault and battery a few years ago. Do you think he could have had anything to do with Cassandra’s disappearance?”

Pogue’s mouth flew open. “Of course not. That’s absolutely ridiculous. I can’t believe you’re accusing him of something like that.” He spread his hands out toward me. “Is that what you think?”

“No, that’s not what I think.” I gave Ford a disgusted look. “What basis do you have for asking that question?”

He shrugged. “I was just looking at some possibilities.”

Pogue asked, “What sort of possibilities?”

“Like maybe Cassandra stopped by your office before she left the building, ran into Fasano, and they struck up a conversation as he was leaving. Perhaps he offered her a ride home, something happened between them, things got out of hand, and from there—”

“Stop!” Pogue shouted, gripping the armrests on his chair. “What you’re suggesting is pure conjecture. You have no facts to back it up.”

“He’s right, Kyle,” I said, shaking my head at him. “We don’t have any evidence Cassandra met with foul play, so we shouldn’t be speculating about anyone’s involvement until we have the facts to prove it.”

Ford placed his arms across his chest in a defensive posture. “Sometimes you need to be creative in order to solve a crime.”

Pogue said, “But that’s just it. You don’t know a crime’s been committed. There’s absolutely no evidence of it.”

“I agree,” I said. “That’s why we’re conducting an investigation.”

Pogue picked up his ballpoint pen again, but this time, he used it to gesture at me. “Personally, if I were you, I’d look into the possibility Cassandra had some sort of breakdown and just left town.”

As I stood to my feet, I said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for your time today, Director Pogue. If I have any other questions, I’ll give you a call. Would you mind giving me your cell phone number?”

My request seemed to catch him off guard. “Oh . . . uh . . . I don’t usually give out my personal number. My preference is to have Ms. Bailey screen my calls, as well as my visitors.”

I smiled at him. “I promise not to call you unless I have to.”

He didn’t return my smile, although he did pick up a business card from a fancy holder on his desk and scribbled his number on the back.

As he handed it to me, Ford asked, “What happens when Ms. Bailey isn’t here to screen your visitors, and someone drops by your office to see you?”

Pogue glared at him. “I’m telling you, Cassandra wasn’t in my office the day she disappeared.”

Ford shook his head. “I didn’t say she was.”

* * * * * *

When we came out of Pogue’s office, I glanced over at the stairs and realized I hadn’t asked permission to check out Cassandra’s office, but since there was no one around, I decided to do it anyway.

Ford was in agreement, so we quickly went up to the second floor where we found a door with her name on it at the head of the stairs.

Hanging on the wall outside her office—between her office and an empty classroom—was a bulletin board with bold black letters across it that said, “Ms. Simmons Says.”

Underneath the heading was a list of sayings—they were obviously intended to encourage and motivate the students at the Red Shield Academy—and they were also in bold letters.

“Believe in yourself, even when no one else does.”

“Mistakes are proof that you’re trying.”

“You’re stronger than your challenges.”

“Dream big, work hard, stay focused.”

“Every day is a second chance.”

As Ford and I stood there reading through them, a middle-aged man, wearing a dark green work uniform, came down the hall wheeling a large, yellow trash can. When he stopped at the door of the empty classroom, he looked over at us and smiled.

I asked, “Would you happen to be Jesse Delaney?”

“That would be me, all right. Are you with the DC Police?”

“No, I’m Mylas Grey, a private investigator hired by Cassandra Simmons’ mother to look into her disappearance. This is my associate, Kyle Ford. Could we ask you a few questions?”

“Sure, why not? The police already asked me a bunch of them.”

“I appreciate that. Would you mind telling us about the last time you saw Cassandra?”

“No, I don’t mind.” He walked closer to where we were standing. “The last time I saw her was when I was making my rounds after the last bell rang on the day she disappeared. I’d already emptied the trash cans in the other classrooms before I came to her office, so I—”

“Any special reason why you saved her office till last?”

“I mainly did it because she didn’t leave until after four.”

“So you didn’t go into her office until she was gone?”

“Oh, yeah, sometimes I did. Of course, if she had someone with her, I didn’t bother her.”

“How did you know if she had someone with her?”

“Her door was usually open unless she was talking to someone. Her trash can is just inside her door, so she told me it wouldn’t bother her if I emptied it while she was working in there.”

He reached down and unhooked a wad of keys hanging from his belt loop. “Here, I’ll show you what I mean.”

He quickly inserted a key and opened Cassandra’s office door. As he was doing so, I stole a quick glance at Ford, who grinned at me at our good fortune of being able to look inside Cassandra’s office.

As I expected, it wasn’t very big—probably only a third the size of a classroom, but everything in it looked warm and inviting, from the lamp in a corner of the room to the two brown bucket chairs in front of an inspirational poster. The poster showed a dirt path through a beautiful forest with words printed at the bottom that said, “Your Journey Matters.”

Cassandra’s desk was near the door on the opposite side of the room from the chairs, and the first thing I noticed was an empty spot on top where I suspected her laptop had been. I assumed the police had confiscated it so their forensic experts could see if there was something on it that might help them find her.

She also had a file cabinet behind her desk, along with a couple of bookshelves, plus a small table next to her desk with a printer on it.

“See, here it is,” Delaney said, pointing at the trash can just inside the doorway. “This is why I never had to bother Ms. Simmons if she was doing something at her desk.”

“Was she at her desk the last time you saw her?” Ford asked.

“Uh-huh. She was sitting right there looking at some papers. I didn’t say anything to her, but she stopped reading for a second and said hi to me. I asked her how her day was going, and she said it was going great, and she thought it was gonna be even better soon.”

“Did you ask her why she thought it would be better?”

He shook his head. “No, I just said something like, ‘I hope it is,’ and then I emptied her trash can and left.”

I asked, “What time was that?”

“I think it was around four-fifteen. That’s what I told the police. I know I went up to the third floor at four-thirty.”

“When you came back down to the second floor later, did you notice if Cassandra’s office door was closed?”

“I believe it must have been because I’m sure I would have noticed it if it wasn’t. I didn’t stay here on the second floor, though, I went on down to the first floor. By that time, it was close to five o’clock, and that’s when I’m supposed to lock the main doors.”

“So everyone else had left the building by then?”

“Yes. I always walk out to the sidewalk and check the parking lot to be sure there aren’t any cars out there before I lock the front doors. When I did that, I noticed everyone had left except for Director Pogue. He was sitting in his BMW, but I believe he was waiting for another car to pull out of a visitor spot at the rear of the building.”

“Do you know who was in the other car?”

He nodded as he closed the door to Cassandra’s office. “Yeah, I recognized the car. It was a Yukon. That’s what Frosty Fasano, one of the school’s advisory board members, drives. As soon as it came around the corner of the building, I saw the two cars leave the parking lot together, although they went different directions on Woodward.”

Ford said, “It sounds like you’re used to seeing Mr. Fasano here at the school.”

He bobbed his head up and down as he hooked his keys on his belt loop again. “Oh, yeah. He comes around here quite a bit.”

“When he’s here, does he hang out with the kids or visit any members of the faculty besides Director Pogue?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ve never seen him do that. He always brings a couple of guys with him, and one of them stays in his vehicle, while the other one goes in Director Pogue’s office with him.”

“Did you notice if Mr. Fasano had anyone with him when you saw him driving out of the parking lot that day?”

He thought for a moment. “I guess I shouldn’t say I actually saw Mr. Fasano. I only saw his car. I just assumed he was in the backseat like he always is, because the two guys with him were riding in the front.”

“Have you ever seen Cassandra accept a ride from a faculty member? Or have you ever seen anyone come here to pick her up?”

“No, I never have.” He walked back over to his rolling trash can and motioned toward the empty classroom. “Well, I better get back to work now. Nice talking to you.”

Ford held up his hand. “Do you mind if I ask you one more question?” When Delaney shook his head, Ford asked, “What did you think when you heard Ms. Simmons was missing?”

His facial expression turned somber. “It really bothered me. I thought something terrible had probably happened to her.”

“Why did you think that?”

“I guess it was because I know there are a lot of sick people out there, and Ms. Simmons is such a nice person, I thought she might not recognize someone who wanted to take advantage of her.”

“It’s a shame the school’s security cameras weren’t working that day,” I said. “If they were, the police would have been able to see if someone picked her up, or if she was followed to her bus stop.”

He shook his head. “I hadn’t heard anything about the cameras not working. That’s a real shame.”

“Are those cameras monitored in the main office?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. Our security guard is in charge of them, or at least the video screens are in his cubicle in the front office. He’s not always there, but there’s also a duplicate set of screens in Director Pogue’s office, so he can always see what’s going on around the building.”

Although I wasn’t going to contradict him, I thought he was mistaken about the monitors being in the director’s office, but then, as Ford and I took the stairs back down to the first floor, I remembered seeing a tall wooden cabinet next to his bookcase—a cabinet where the contents were hidden behind two closed doors.

I felt sure the equipment for monitoring the building’s security cameras could easily fit inside the cabinet, and presumably, the security setup included some kind of software system with settings that controlled how the camera feed was recorded.

Although I had no idea what caused the technical failure—whether the cameras simply froze or the software malfunctioned—I had no doubt Director Pogue knew how to make both of those things happen.

The question was, were the police aware Riley Pogue had access to that equipment?

I could hardly wait to talk over my suspicions with Ford, but we didn’t say anything to each other until we left the building and were inside his Jeep.

Then, as he put the car in reverse and glanced over at me, he said, “Do you wanna flip a coin to see who goes first?”

“No, that’s not necessary. You go first.”

“Okay. Here’s what I think: I don’t know what happened to Cassandra, but I’m pretty sure Riley Pogue does.”

“I agree, but before you tell me why, there’s something I want you to do before we leave here.”

Chapter 13

Ford looked puzzled when I said I wanted him to do something before we left, but when I pointed over to visitor parking and asked him to drive over there so we could see how close it was to the school’s rear entrance, he agreed we should check it out.

As he drove by, I got a good look behind the building.

“Okay, this confirms what I thought,” I said. “Fasano could have exited the building through the back entrance and gotten in his vehicle without anyone inside the building seeing him.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like it would be that difficult, and at that time of day, there weren’t that many people in the building anyway.”

Once Ford turned right on Woodward Avenue, I said, “So tell me why you think Pogue knows what happened to Cassandra.”

“There are several reasons. First, he was talking about her in the past tense, and second, he was evasive about the questions you kept asking him about their relationship. But the most obvious thing was that whenever one of us brought up something about the day she disappeared, he got very defensive about it.”

“We’re on the same page. I thought the same thing, and he also seemed very eager for me to pursue the idea that Cassandra had disappeared on her own without any outside influence.”

“Did you also notice how he overreacted when I suggested Fasano might have run into her in the building or had something to do with her disappearance?”

I smiled. “I have to say your ‘bad cop’ routine was excellent.”

He laughed. “To be truthful, I enjoyed it. My old partner always insisted I play the good cop, which I didn’t find nearly as fun as playing the bad cop.”

“We got a lot of useful information today, but in my opinion, most of it came from Jesse Delaney. The way he described Cassandra’s demeanor doesn’t sound like someone who was thinking of calling it quits and walking away from her responsibilities. In fact, it sounded like that would be the last thing she would do.”

“You mean because she was looking forward to something?”

“Right. I think she planned to stop off at Director Pogue’s office and present her proposal to him before she left for the day.”

“So paint that scenario for me. Tell me what you think happened if that’s what she did.”

“It’s not too different from what you suggested to Pogue about her stopping by his office and running into Fasano, except I’d be surprised if she would accept a ride from Frosty, at least not willingly.”

“In my defense, I didn’t give that story a lot of thought. I just made up something to see how Pogue would react to it.”

“So here’s what I think could have gone down that afternoon. When Cassandra heard Ms. Bailey wasn’t there, she saw it as an opportunity to talk to Pogue about her proposal without waiting for an appointment. But when she stopped by his office, she could tell there was someone with him because she could hear them talking.”

Ford nodded. “Yeah, that’s possible. We could hear Ms. Bailey on the other side of the door when she went in to speak to Pogue.”

“As to what Cassandra did next, I’m not sure. Did she have a seat in Ms. Bailey’s office and decide to wait a few minutes? If she did, maybe she heard them discussing something that disturbed her.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but yeah, that’s a possibility. Pogue and Fasano could have been talking about the federal grant money or the kickbacks we suspect Fasano is giving Pogue for using his vendors.”

“Or maybe they were discussing something entirely different. Or maybe she didn’t hear anything at all, but when Fasano came out and saw her sitting there, he might have suspected she heard something.”

“If that happened, then I think it’s safe to assume Fasano would consider her a liability, and she would need to disappear.”

Neither one of us said anything as Ford tried to avoid being hit by a semi while merging into traffic on the expressway, but once the driver moved into the next lane, I said, “On the other hand, Pogue described Cassandra as outspoken, so what if she overheard them talking about misusing grant money or some other illegal activity, and when Fasano was leaving, she confronted him about it.”

“In that case, then perhaps Director Pogue threatened Cassandra with dismissal if she didn’t keep quiet about it, and when she refused, there was some kind of physical confrontation which resulted in Cassandra’s death.”

“In that scenario, I could see Fasano offering to take care of things for Pogue—like getting rid of her body. Of course, if he did that, Pogue would forever be in his debt, which I’m sure Fasano would like.”

Ford didn’t immediately respond to my comment. Instead, he gestured at me and asked, “Do you wanna go get some lunch, or do you have somewhere else you need to go now?”

“Let’s get some lunch and then head to the office. I need to speak to Nina and find out if she’s learned anything new about Fasano, or if she found any CCTV cameras. I also want to touch base with Greta. I haven’t spoken to her in a couple of days, and I’m afraid if I wait too long, the ‘to do’ list she has for me will end up being the size of a book.”

He chuckled a little. “Speaking of cameras, were you surprised to learn Pogue is able to monitor the security cameras from his office?”

“Yes, I was. I hadn’t thought about that, but as soon as I heard it, I realized the equipment is probably installed in the cabinet next to his bookcase, although by keeping those doors shut, it’s obvious he doesn’t want people to know he has that capability.”

“So you don’t think it was a glitch that caused the security cameras to be offline when Cassandra went missing?”

“I seriously doubt it. I believe Pogue was responsible for shutting down those cameras. As to why he did it—whether it was one of the scenarios I suggested or not—that’s what I intend to find out.”

“Personally, I think he probably did it so Fasano could put Cassandra in his vehicle. Unfortunately, we don’t have any physical evidence to link Fasano to Cassandra, so there’s no way to substantiate Hernandez’s claim that he buried her somewhere.”

“No, but I’m hoping the DC Police can help us with that.”

He smiled, “Does that mean you’re thinking about contacting Detective Welch and discussing Cassandra’s case with her? I’m sure you know she won’t be obligated to reciprocate and divulge the details of her case with you.”

“Uh-huh, I’m aware of that, but if I told her I had a recent conversation with an ex-con who overheard a discussion about Cassandra as he was leaving Petersburg Prison, she might be curious enough to throw me a few crumbs.”

“Are you sure you’ve never met Sarah Welch?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because her curiosity is what makes her a really good detective.”

“Then I suppose I should tell her just enough to make her curious, so she’ll offer me something if I give her more details.”

“It would be even better if you could meet with her in person. Like you, she was shot in the line of duty, so if you could have a face-to-face meeting with her, she’d probably feel sorry for you.”

“Are you saying I look pathetic?”

“No comment.”

* * * * * *

After we arrived at the Greystone Center, Ford took the elevator up to his office on the second floor, while I walked around the corner to check in with Greta.

The day after my surgery, I’d called her to let her know the doctor said I should take a week off to recuperate from my gunshot wound, but I assured her she could contact me at home if she had any questions about how to handle an administrative matter.

She was adamant she’d be able to handle things on her own for a few days, although Greta’s idea of handling things on her own usually included making a long list of items she wanted to get my input on before making a decision.

However, since she was an excellent administrative assistant, I never complained about going through them with her, even though many of those items seemed trivial to me.

I especially appreciated her organizational skills, which included taking care of all the record-keeping and paperwork involved in running an investigative agency, not to mention the day-to-day logistics of maintaining the Greystone building, as well as supplying all of my MGI employees with their office needs.

She looked up and smiled when I walked in and greeted her. “Good afternoon, Greta. I see you’re holding down the fort here.”

“Well, hi, Mylas. I wasn’t expecting to see you for a few days. Aren’t you supposed to be at home recuperating?”

I nodded as I took a seat in front of her desk. “I am recuperating. I’m just not doing it at home. I’m convinced it would take me twice as long to heal if I were sitting around my house all day doing nothing. Don’t tell my doctor, though.”

She flipped her hand at me dismissively. “Oh, doctors, what do they know? I completely agree with you. The human body is meant to be active, and the mind engaged. Does this mean you’re coming back to work fulltime?”

“No, I can’t do that just yet. I’m still taking physical therapy every morning. However, I am working on a case, and I wanted to come by and let you know about it so you can email the client a contract."

"So you’re taking a week off, but you’ve still managed to sign up a new client.” She laughed a little as she pulled her keyboard closer to her. “I’ll need a name, phone number, and email.”

“Her name is Kathleen Simmons.”

I removed the piece of paper Kathleen had given me from my wallet and handed it to her. As she was typing the information into her computer, I also placed a dollar bill on the desk and said, “The client has already paid me in full for taking the case.”

She glanced up from her computer. “That’s a little unusual, isn’t it? How could she pay you in full if you haven’t—”

She suddenly noticed I was tapping my finger on the dollar bill. “You’re kidding. Why would you only charge her a dollar?”

“Because I don’t believe she can afford our fees, and I intend to find her daughter whether she’s my client or not.”

“Her daughter?” All of a sudden, the name dawned on her. “Simmons. Is her daughter Cassandra, the missing teacher?”

“Cassandra’s actually a high school counselor, but yes, Kathleen has hired our agency to find her daughter. I told her you would email her the contract to sign, but when you do that, be sure and include your phone number, just in case she has any questions.”

“Oh, yes, of course, I . . . uh . . . would always . . . uh . . .”

Greta paused as if she’d suddenly lost her train of thought, and then seconds later, she put her hand up to her mouth, took a deep breath, and bowed her head.

I gestured toward her with my free hand. “Are you okay, Greta?”

She looked up a moment, took another deep breath, and then closed her eyes. Moments later, I saw tears trickling down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you?”

She shook her head as she pulled a tissue from a box on her credenza. “No, it’s okay. I was . . . uh . . . just overwhelmed. My emotions got the best of me. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. It’s fine.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what I should do at this point.

I’d never known Greta to be emotional about anything—other than looking displeased when someone wasn’t adhering to her wishes.

In fact, she had always been cool, calm, and collected, the very picture of control. Leslie and I had even joked about how she had a drill sergeant’s mentality, but she ran the agency with the subtlety of a seasoned diplomat.

Her take-charge attitude had been apparent to me from the first interview I had with her when I was trying to convince her to leave Senator Matten’s office and come to work for MGI—it was actually Nathan Lockett who recommended I call her when I told him I wanted to concentrate on being an investigator and not an administrator.

“Well, it’s not fine with me,” she said, blowing her nose. “I apologize. It’s just that for the last several weeks I’ve been trying to suppress all these memories, and when you said Cassandra’s name, I couldn’t hold them back any longer.” She gave me a weak smile. “I guess you could say the dam just broke.”

“Are you saying you know Cassandra Simmons?”

She waved her hand at me. “No, no. I don’t know Cassandra. I didn’t mean to imply that.”

“Then why did you—”

She raised her hand. “I’m sorry. Let me explain. When you interviewed me for this position, I told you I was a widow, that my husband died in Iraq, and that I didn’t have any children. I only said I didn’t have any children because it was too painful for me to talk about my daughter. I’m sorry, Mylas. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“It’s okay, Greta. I completely understand, and you don’t have to tell me anything about your daughter. That’s up to you.”

“No, I think I need to talk about it.” She dabbed at her nose with her tissue. “Fifteen years ago, my teenage daughter was kidnapped and killed by the sicko who took her. It was a very dark time in my life, but with the help of a good friend who urged me to talk to her pastor, I was able to deal with my grief.”

“I’m so sorry, Greta. I had no idea your daughter was murdered, and I can’t imagine how difficult that was for you.”

“It was truly horrible, but two things happened that helped me cope with it. First, my boss, Thomas Matten, who was the mayor of Springfield, had just won his senatorial campaign, and he asked me to move to Washington and run his Capitol Hill office for him. Moving to D. C., from Springfield, Illinois, was a big change for me, but it was a change I desperately needed.”

“Oh, yeah, I can see how that would take your mind off what you were going through.”

“It wasn’t just the move that kept me occupied. I also had to learn how things operated on Capitol Hill, which was a lot like going back to college for four years. But the second thing that helped me cope with the loss of my daughter was adopting my two miniature schnauzers.”

She gestured over at a double picture frame on her desk where her “girls,” as she often called them, were on display. Each photograph showed one of the dogs—their names were Heidi and Violet—at the winners table at a dog show. In both pictures, Greta was standing next to them proudly holding a blue ribbon.

“As you know, Heidi and Violet are my pride and joy, as well as wonderful companions to me, and I’ve also become good friends with other owners who follow the dog show circuit.”

“So you’re friends with them even though you’re competitors?”

“Yes. We have such a wonderful camaraderie. I think it comes from knowing we’re all making the same sacrifices to train and showcase our breeds. That just naturally creates a special bond between us.”

Even though Greta seemed to have worked through her feelings by talking about what caused her to become so emotional, I was somewhat hesitant to return to the subject of Cassandra.

But, after a few minutes of describing some of the friends she’d met on the dog show circuit, she brought up the subject herself.

“I’m glad this situation came up, Mylas. I know it’s been good for me to talk about it. For some reason, when I heard about Cassandra Simmons on the news, all those feelings came flooding back, and I’ve been having a hard time not going into that dark hole again.”

“You said you talked to a pastor before. Have you thought about doing that again?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I only went to see that pastor in Springfield because my friend went to church there. I’m not really a churchgoer.” She laughed a little. “I usually spend most of my Sundays at a dog show or driving home from one.”

I said, “I only started going to Grace Fellowship Church in Ashton Heights a few months ago, but I know they have several ministers on their staff, so I’m sure if you called the church office, someone would be happy to talk to you.”

“Well, I might do that.” She gestured at me. “You know, Mylas, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything about going to church.”

“Well, it’s a new thing for me, and to be honest, I was never interested in church until I made a commitment to become a follower of Christ a few months ago. My life’s really changed a lot since then, so I guess I should probably talk about it a lot more than I do.”

“Well, thanks for telling me. And thanks for understanding about my sloppy tears.” She looked over at her computer. “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me about the Cassandra Simmons case?”

“I believe we’ve covered everything. I just need to have an official contract on file when I talk to the DC Police about the case.”

“I’ll get it done this afternoon.” She reached over and picked up a sheet of paper. “Are you ready to talk about your to-do list now?”

I was happy to see it was only one page long.

Chapter 14

After I left Greta, I went by and said hello to Bonnie, my financial secretary, as well as Kendall, my receptionist, who was talking on the phone with someone when I walked up.

After punching a button on her telephone console, she looked up at me and shook her head. “Well, that was weird. Someone just called and said they wanted to speak to you, and when I told them you weren’t available, they asked if they could leave a message, but when I told them I would transfer them to your voice mail, they said, ‘Oh, never mind,’ and they hung up.”

“Was it a man or a woman?”

“It was a man, and he sounded like he was in a car, and that someone was talking to him while he was trying to talk to me.”

“I plan to be around here for at least a couple of hours, so if he calls back, I’ll be glad to talk to him.”

“Okay, I’ll buzz you if he calls back.”

As I headed back down the hallway, she said, “You don’t look as tired as you did the other day, Mr. Grey. Your physical therapy sessions must be getting easier.”

“Actually, I had the day off from physical therapy. I’m supposed to be doing my exercises at home today. That may or may not happen, but let’s keep that a secret between the two of us.”

She smiled. “You sound just like my dad. When he had knee replacement surgery, he hated doing those exercises.”

As usual, my conversation with Kendall made me feel old.

* * * * * *

As soon as I got up to my office, I checked my voice mail, and after returning a phone call, plus answering a couple of emails, I sat there quietly for several minutes trying to decide if it was time to call Detective Welch.

After going over the pros and cons of doing it, I still hadn’t made up my mind, but then I remembered the sermon I’d heard on Sunday.

The minister delivered a sermon from a book in the Bible called Philippians—he explained this was a letter the apostle Paul wrote to some believers in Philippi—and his message was taken from a single verse in chapter four, which he said everyone should memorize.

I hadn’t memorized it word for word yet, but the gist of the verse was, “Don’t be worried about anything. Just pray and ask God for what you need and be sure and thank him for what he’s done for you.”

Remembering that verse caused me to pause and ask God what I should do about calling Detective Welch. Shortly after I prayed, I felt impressed to give the detective a call, so I went with it.

When I called the police department’s main number, I used our office phone because I knew MGI would show up on the detective’s caller ID, and I figured she probably knew Ford had come to work for us, so she wouldn’t let the call go to voice mail.

A few seconds after I punched in extension number 252, she picked up and said, “Detective Welch, Special Victims Unit.”

Although I hadn’t thought about it before, it made sense why Cassandra’s case had been assigned to a detective in that unit instead of a homicide detective. SVU detectives were trained to handle cases involving sexual assault, domestic violence, child abuse, or other crimes that required specialized attention—such as a missing persons case where foul play was suspected, although not yet evident.

“Detective Welch, my name’s Mylas Grey. I’m a private investigator, and the owner of Mylas Grey Investigations. I have some information related to Cassandra Simmons, which I believe is pertinent to your investigation, and I was calling to see if we might be able to meet soon and discuss it.”

“Am I right in thinking Kyle Ford just joined your agency?”

“That’s correct. This is his first week on the job.”

“Yeah, I thought your name sounded familiar. Uh . . . as to Cassandra Simmons, what sort of information do you have about her?”

“It’s directly related to the circumstances surrounding her disappearance. And before we go any further, Detective Welch, I wanted to let you know that Cassandra’s mother, Kathleen, has recently hired my agency to conduct an independent investigation of her daughter’s disappearance.”

“I see. Well, frankly, Mr. Grey, I find that very strange, because the last time we talked, Kathleen didn’t say anything about hiring an outside investigator.”

“I’m sure that’s because she didn’t consider doing it until I arrived on her doorstep and shared the information about her daughter that I was given by a recently released inmate at Petersburg.”

“As you probably anticipated, that statement got my attention. Okay, since you’ve managed to pique my interest, would you be able to meet with me and my partner around three o’clock?”

“That works for me. Is it too much trouble to ask you to come to my office? I’m recovering from surgery to remove a bullet from my shoulder, and I can’t drive myself anywhere yet.”

“Sure, we can manage that. I’m sorry you got shot. I’ve been there, done that, and I can tell you, the recuperation process is no fun. Give me the address, and we’ll be there around three. My partner is Don Yeary. He’s with the homicide division.”

“Should I read anything into the fact Detective Yeary is a homicide detective? Is Cassandra’s case considered a homicide now?”

She let out a short laugh. “It sounds like I’ve also piqued your interest. I suppose that means we’ll have plenty to share with each other during our meeting. We’ll see you at three.”

“Thanks, Detective. I’ll let my receptionist know you’re coming.”

I sent Kendall a quick text and told her Detectives Welch and Yeary had a three o’clock appointment with me, and then I headed down to Nina’s office.

On the way, I texted Joe and asked him to pick me up around four-thirty. I figured by that time, I would need to call it a day.

Being off for seven days was wearing me out.

* * * * * *

When I got down to Nina’s office, I found her door standing wide open, but she wasn’t inside. I went in anyway and took a seat in front of her desk, and in less than a minute, she showed up.

“You’re not trying to read my notes, are you?” she asked, sitting down across from me and picking up one of several yellow sticky notes scattered around her desk.

“No, but since it sounded like you were worried I might read them, then maybe I need to take a look at them.”

“I’m not worried about you reading them. I was referring to your ability to make out the meaning of my shorthand.”

She took one of the notes and stuck it in front of my face. “Can you decipher this?”

Her note consisted of a bunch of numbers, along with the words, “bank at corner,” and what appeared to be a drawing of some sort.

“The only thing I can say with certainty is that this note has something to do with a bank.”

“What kind of investigator are you, anyway? Can’t you tell those lines are arrows and that’s the side of a building? And what about those numbers? Don’t you recognize there’s a pattern to them?”

“No, and no. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

She leaned back in her chair and laughed. “And I’m worth those big bucks and probably a lot more. Okay, so here’s the thing. I still haven’t been able to verify if Fasano and Pogue are engaged in illegal activities, but I do have some other news for you.”

“You mean about Cassandra?” When she nodded, I said, “I’m all ears, and when you finish, I’ll tell you what Kyle and I learned from our visit with Pogue today.”

“Do you wanna go ahead and tell me about it now?”

“No, you look pretty excited about your news, so you go first.”

She smiled. “After you told me Fasano was at the Red Shield Academy the afternoon of January 11, I decided it was time for me to check out the businesses along Woodward Avenue to see which ones have outside security cameras. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, any vehicle coming or going from there has to use that street.”

“Right. So what did you find out?”

“First of all, I discovered there are several CCTV cameras along a three-block section west of the high school. Any vehicle heading toward the freeway has to travel down that road. Going east, there’s a two-block section before a vehicle comes to a cross street, and I found a couple of cameras in that area also.”

“I know that took some time, Nina, but it’s hard for me to believe the police didn’t do the same thing to see if Cassandra got on a bus or into a vehicle, or if they could spot her walking down the street.”

“I assume they did, but I wasn’t looking for Cassandra. I was looking for Fasano’s SUV.” She paused a second. “And I found it. I saw his Yukon on Woodward Avenue around five o’clock; actually, it was three minutes past five.”

Nina spent a few minutes telling me how she’d used her special magic—which was her way of describing her computer hacking skills—to obtain the video feed from a gas station’s security cameras and also a private parking lot’s cameras, both of which were using a self-installed system that wasn’t password protected.

“Here, I’ll show you what I found. “ She quickly swiveled one of her computer monitors around on her desk so I could see it.

Seconds later, after she tapped a few keys on her keyboard, I could see a slightly grainy, washed-out image of a black Yukon, which was stopped at a red light. I was also able to make out the two male figures in the front seat.

Nina said, “This is the camera from the gas station at the intersection of Woodward and Prescott. Give me one second, and I’ll freeze the image and zoom in so you can see the driver and the passenger a little better.”

When she enlarged the image, I was able to identify the features of the two men from seeing them on the Liberty Landworks website. The driver was Raul Hernandez, and the passenger was Frosty’s bodyguard, Tyrone Slayton.

It was impossible to see anyone in the backseat.

After I pointed this out to Nina, she said, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do about that. Once the light turned green, the Yukon headed north on Prescott, so I assume they got on the freeway from there.”

“You mentioned there was also some video from a camera at a parking lot. Was that view any better?”

“No, it wasn’t helpful at all. The Yukon just drove by, so there was nothing to see. Here I’ll show you.”

She was right. There was nothing to see. However, I gave her plenty of kudos for all the work she’d done to get the gas station video of the Yukon, and then I asked her to put it on the MGI server, so I could access it.

“I’ll do it right now.”

While she was uploading it, I glanced down at my watch, which caused her to ask, “Do you have somewhere you need to be? If so, then you can tell me about your visit with Pogue later.”

“No, it’s okay. I called the detectives assigned to Cassandra’s case and told them I had some information I wanted to share with them, but I still have a few minutes before they get here.”

“Since you said you weren’t gonna contact them unless you could verify the information Lenny gave you, I guess that means you learned a lot from Pogue today.”

“I didn’t learn as much from him as I did from the janitor at the Red Shield Academy. That reminds me. I’d like for you to run a thorough background check on him. His name is Jesse Delaney, and he certainly seems like a reliable person, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

She scribbled his name down on a yellow note pad, and then she said, “So tell me what you learned today that made you change your mind about talking to the police.”

I quickly went over the details of the interview Ford and I had with Pogue—including my analysis of Pogue’s reaction to the questions we asked him—and then I told her about Delaney’s description of Cassandra’s demeanor, plus his surprising revelation about the building’s security cameras being in Pogue’s office.

When I finished, she shook her head. “This is all very interesting, Mylas, but in my way of thinking, you haven’t verified anything, other than establishing Frosty Fasano was in the same building at the same time that Cassandra was there.”

I gestured at the monitor. “Don’t forget the CCTV footage from the gas station showing Raul Hernandez was Fasano’s driver.”

She nodded. “Okay, you’re right, but you haven’t actually found any evidence that what Hernandez told the inmate about Fasano killing Cassandra is true, have you? Or am I missing something here?”

“No, you’re not missing anything, although Chase did tell me that Fasano has at least three working construction sites, any of which could be used to get rid of a body.”

She tilted her head toward the ceiling and rolled her eyes, and then she motioned at me and said, “Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying this didn’t happen to Cassandra, but you seem to be building a theory based on what-ifs, and you know me, Mylas. I need hard data before I can draw a conclusion.”

“I don’t suppose it would make any difference if I told you I just had a feeling Hernandez was telling the truth, would it?”

Nina gave me her you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.

I got up from the chair. “No, I didn’t think it would.”

“So what happens now?”

“Now, I need to convince two police detectives that Frosty Fasano murdered Cassandra and buried her at one of his construction sites.”

“How are you gonna do that if you can’t even convince me?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

Chapter 15

Ordinarily, I had Kendall escort visitors up to my office, but today I decided it would probably be best to do it myself.

I made the decision because I wanted Detectives Welch and Yeary to feel comfortable with me, and I figured engaging in social chit-chat in the elevator on the way up to the second floor would go a long way towards doing that.

Although I left my office to go down to the lobby at ten minutes before three, the detectives were already walking in the front door when I arrived.

There was no mistaking who they were.

Both of them looked like law enforcement officers.

Sarah Welch, who appeared to be in her late forties, was dressed in a dark brown pants suit with a light tan blouse, which complemented her wavy brown hair and olive complexion. She was wearing her handbag over her shoulder in a cross-body style.

I considered her an attractive woman, although if she hadn’t been wearing makeup which enhanced her best feature—her expressive hazel-colored eyes—I wondered if she might look a little plain.

On the other hand, Don Yeary was one of those men who probably hadn’t been thought of as handsome in his younger days, but who had aged well. He had a thick head of almost white hair, a strong jawline, and deep blue eyes. He was wearing a patterned sports jacket, black pants, and an open-collar white shirt with no tie.

It was Detective Welch who introduced herself first.

“I believe you must be Mylas Grey,” she said, offering me her hand. “I’m Detective Sarah Welch, and this is Don Yeary from our Homicide Division. I remember seeing you on the news not too long ago.”

“Nice to meet you both,” I said, shaking their hands. “Although it was great publicity for my agency, I can tell you I wasn’t too happy about seeing myself on the evening news several nights in a row.”

Yeary nodded his head. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s true.”

“My office is up on the second floor, and the elevator’s right over here.” I pointed to my right. “I really do appreciate the two of you coming by to talk to me. Under most circumstances, I wouldn’t ask you to do that, but it’ll be a few more days before I can get rid of this sling and drive myself again.”

“It’s not a problem,” Detective Welch said, as we got on the elevator. “You mentioned you had a bullet removed. If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get shot?”

By the time we arrived at my office, I was able to give them the short version of what happened, and as we stepped inside, and I invited them to make themselves comfortable in my seating area, Yeary said he’d actually heard about the shooting from Detective Gaskin—one of the homicide detectives who interviewed me after the shooting—although he said Gaskin never mentioned my name.

I didn’t tell Yeary, but I was pleased Gaskin kept my name out of it.

As the two detectives walked across the room, both of them appeared to be admiring the paintings on the wall, as well as my office furnishings—a black granite conference table, an oriental rug, and a gray leather sofa with two purple wing-back armchairs across from it.

“You have a beautiful office,” Sarah said, taking a seat on the couch with Detective Yeary. “I can understand why Kyle wouldn’t mind coming to work here every day.”

“I can’t take credit for how it’s decorated. My administrative assistant hired an interior designer who took care of everything. Basically, all I did was show up with my laptop.”

Yeary let out a short laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a purple chair before. That’s a first for me.”

“It was for me too, and to be honest with you, I’m still getting used to the color scheme in here.”

I pointed over to the other side of the room, where I had a coffee maker and a mini fridge. “Before we get started, could I offer you something to drink? I have coffee, soft drinks, and bottled water.”

Sarah said she’d take a soft drink, and Yeary wanted water.

After I brought the drinks over to them, I sat down in one of the purple chairs, twisted the cap off my bottled water, and said, “Unless one of you has something you want to say first, I guess I’ll begin.”

Sarah nodded. “Please do.”

“I’ll start by telling you about the conversation I had with my handyman, Joe Blondi, last Friday when he mentioned he had a friend, a recently released inmate, who needed advice about a problem that involved law enforcement. Since I was just gonna be hanging around the house for a few days, I told him I’d be glad to talk to him.”

Detective Yeary shook his head. “Oh, brother, that sounds like trouble right there.”

I smiled. “To give you some background, several years ago, Joe spent time in Petersburg for a crime he didn’t commit, and while he was in there, he befriended a young inmate named Lenny Dilbeck. After he got out, he stayed in touch with Lenny, and last Tuesday, when Lenny was released from Petersburg, he called Joe. They got together on Wednesday, and that’s when Lenny told him about his problem. I heard about it on Saturday.”

I quickly went over what Lenny had told me about returning his books to the prison library the night before he was released and overhearing Raul Hernandez tell Diego that he knew where the police could find Cassandra Simmons.

“Hernandez claimed that his boss killed her, and that he and another guy buried her at one of his boss’ construction sites.”

When the two detectives heard this, Detective Welch suddenly paused as she was about to take a drink of her soda, and Yeary sat up a little straighter in his seat.

“Lenny knew Diego used to work for Frosty Fasano, the real estate developer, so he believed that’s who Hernandez meant by ‘his boss.’ Naturally, I asked Lenny why he didn’t call the police and give them this information instead of getting in touch with Joe. He told me he was afraid no one would believe him.”

Detective Yeary flipped his hand in the air. “Yeah, he was probably right about that. Did you believe him?”

“Yes, I did, but what you need to understand is that while I believed Lenny, I couldn’t be sure Hernandez was telling the truth.”

I told them I suspected Hernandez might have just been blowing smoke to make himself look tough since he’d been in Petersburg before, and he knew he needed to maintain a hard-as-nails image.

“Before I proceeded with my investigation, I had my researcher here at MGI do some digging on him.”

After I gave them the information Nina had found out about Hernandez, including how he was caught in the act of committing a burglary while out on parole, Detective Welch said, “I’m sure you know Cassandra disappeared on January 11, so how long has Hernandez been at Petersburg?”

“He just arrived a week ago last Monday, January 17. He was arrested on January 13, two days after she disappeared, so if what he was telling Diego was true, the timing checks out.”

“As long as we’re talking about timing, why have you waited so long to call us?” Detective Yeary asked. “You said Lenny gave you this information last Saturday. Today’s Wednesday.”

“Like I said, I wasn’t convinced Hernandez was telling the truth, so I wanted to make sure there was some validity to his claim before I involved law enforcement. I also promised Lenny I wouldn’t divulge his identity until I did that.”

Sarah asked, “Does that mean you’ve discovered some evidence that proves Frosty Fasano killed Cassandra?”

“No, Detective, it doesn’t. What it means is that while I’ve been investigating the circumstances of Cassandra’s disappearance, I’ve learned several things about the Red Shield Academy and the director, Riley Pogue, as well as a possible reason why Cassandra could have encountered Fasano the afternoon she disappeared. However, I lack any physical evidence to substantiate what I believe happened to her. That’s the reason I called you. I hope you have that evidence.”

Sarah leaned forward and spread her hands out toward me. “Based on the things you’ve learned, what do you believe happened to Cassandra?”

“I don’t want to sound evasive, Detective, but before I tell you that, would you mind if I asked you a few questions first?”

She leaned back on the sofa. “You can certainly ask them, but whether I can answer them or not will depend on your questions. I assure you, though, I’ll try to answer them as long as it doesn’t violate any legal constraints we’re under.”

Yeary added, “As well as our own departmental rules.”

“I understand. My first question is, did you know that Director Pogue has access to the controls for the building’s security cameras from inside his private office?”

Detective Yeary looked surprised by this revelation, and he quickly glanced over at Sarah, who looked pretty shocked herself. “I suppose you’re asking this question because the system was down when Cassandra went missing. I discovered this during my interview with the security guard who told me there was some kind of glitch that took the cameras offline, but no, he never mentioned anything about Director Pogue having access to the monitoring equipment in his office.”

Yeary asked me, “Why would that be relevant?”

I said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll explain it in just a second. My second question is, when your computer forensic people examined the computer from Cassandra’s office, did they discover a recently opened word processing document that looked like it was a proposal for a Life Skills Course at the high school?”

Detective Welch nodded her head. “Yes, it was the most recent document she had opened in her word processing program. I believe the heading on it was ‘Life Skills Course Proposal.’ Her supervisor, Beth Rizzo, told us that she and Cassandra had talked about her proposal earlier in the day.”

“I believe this might be my last question. Did you interview everyone who was still in the building after Cassandra was last seen by the janitor around four-fifteen?”

She hesitated a moment. “Uh . . . yes, I believe so. I didn’t speak to each one of them personally, but other officers did. Of course, I can’t disclose the answers they gave us.”

“I understand, but could you tell me who they were?”

“Sure. In addition to Director Pogue, we spoke to two faculty members and two janitors who were in the building. The director also told us that Frosty Fasano was there with him in his office. And yes, Detective Yeary and I also went by Mr. Fasano’s office and interviewed him.”

“What about his driver and his bodyguard?”

“Uh . . . no, we didn’t speak to anyone but Mr. Fasano.”

Yeary said, “We didn’t know anyone else was at the school with him that day. Are you saying these men were also there?”

“I know for a fact he had his driver, Raul Hernandez, and his bodyguard, Tyrone Slayton, with him. If you’ll give me a second, I’ll show you how I know they were there that day.”

I got up and walked over to my desk, where I grabbed my laptop and brought it back over to the seating area with me.

Once I located the CCTV video from the gas station, which Nina had uploaded to our server, I placed my laptop on the coffee table in front of them and clicked the play button so they could view it.

I said, “According to my researcher, Frosty Fasano employs a driver as well as a bodyguard. As you can see by the time stamp, his vehicle was captured on a CCTV camera at a gas station at the corner of Woodward and Preston on January 11, a few minutes after five o’clock. Both Beth Rizzo and Jesse Delaney told me they saw Fasano’s black Yukon parked in visitor parking on January 11, and Delaney told me he saw the Yukon and Director Pogue’s BMW leaving the school’s parking lot a few minutes before five o’clock.”

“Yes,” Sarah said, continuing to study the video from the gas station. “Mr. Fasano told us he left the Red Shield Academy at around five o’clock that day, and I believe Director Pogue also mentioned that was the time he left.”

The look on Detective Yeary’s face told me he was surprised she’d revealed that information, but I figured she was concentrating so much on the video, she didn’t realize what she’d said, or perhaps her nonchalant remark was simply her way of giving me information without making a big deal out of it.

Either way, I took it as a good sign she might be willing to share other information with me as well.

“It’s impossible to make out the features of the person in the backseat of this vehicle,” she said, motioning toward the computer screen. “Since Mr. Fasano told us he left the school around five, I assume it’s him, but if you’re implying Cassandra is also in this vehicle, this video certainly doesn’t prove it.”

“Is that what you’re saying?” Detective Yeary asked.

“I’m saying that after two days of conducting interviews, doing research, and visiting the Red Shield Academy, I’ve come to the conclusion Raul Hernandez knows something about what happened to Cassandra Simmons. I’m basing that conclusion on a series of events that occurred at the school on January 11, and on what I’ve learned about the questionable business dealings of Riley Pogue and Frosty Fasano.”

“I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise to you, Mr. Grey, but—”

“You can call me Mylas. Everyone around here is on a first-name basis. Well, everyone except my receptionist, who considers me a senior citizen and insists on calling me Mr. Grey.”

Both detectives chuckled, and then Detective Welch said, “Sure, Mylas, we can drop the formality, but what I was about to say was that it probably won’t surprise you that your conclusion is not something we’ve even considered in our investigation. That doesn’t mean we don’t want to hear how you came to this conclusion. In fact, I’m really anxious to hear it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Yeary said. “I definitely want to hear what you mean by a ‘series of events’ on January 11, and what some ‘questionable business dealings’ have to do with Cassandra.”

“The series of events actually begins with Director Pogue’s secretary, Anne Bailey, who called in sick on January 11. Her being gone that day meant anyone who wanted to speak with Director Pogue didn’t have to make an appointment. They could just walk in his outer office and knock on his private office door.”

Once I explained about Ms. Bailey’s absence, I told them about Cassandra’s meeting with Beth Rizzo, and how Cassandra was eager to speak with the director after getting Beth’s approval of her proposed Life Skills Course. As I was speaking, both detectives were nodding as if they already knew this information.

“According to the janitor, Jesse Dalaney,” I said, “Cassandra told him she was having a good day, but she thought it might get even better very soon. Delaney told me when she said that, she was holding some papers in her hand, which I believe was the proposal she was planning to present to Director Pogue just before she left school for the day and headed to her bus stop.”

Sarah looked a little distraught. “As of this moment, our investigation has concluded she didn’t get on a bus that day.”

After she admitted this, I nodded and said, “I believe that’s because when Cassandra entered Director Pogue’s office, she either overheard Fasano and the director talking about something she wasn’t supposed to hear, or they assumed she did, and one or both of them made the decision she was expendable.”

Yeary, who’d just taken a drink from his water bottle, used it to gesture at me. “So going back to your previous question about the security cameras, are you saying a homicide took place in Director Pogue’s office, and the director himself was the person who caused the security software to malfunction to conceal it in some way?”

“Yes, that’s what I think happened.”

Both detectives were quiet for a few minutes, but I was pretty sure I knew what questions were going through their minds, and a few seconds later, Sarah asked one of them.

“So what’s your best guess as to what Cassandra could have overheard that she wasn’t supposed to hear? What could be so significant that it cost an innocent woman her life?”

“It’s the oldest answer in the book—money.”

“You’re gonna have to explain what you mean by that.”

“I’ll do that, but I need to warn you, my explanation is complicated, so the road ahead might get bumpy.”

She nodded. “It’s already been a little rough.”

Chapter 16

I admit I wasn’t sure how long the detectives would allow me to recite all the research Nina had done on Frosty Fasano before one of them interrupted my narrative and asked for an explanation of its relevance to Cassandra.

It happened, but at least it wasn’t until after I told them how he grew up in a poor neighborhood in D. C., and later became a successful developer by using government grants to build affordable housing.

However, when I introduced the subject of his relationship to Luis Garza and their partnership in ToughKleen Solutions and Harvest Valley Foods, Detective Welch finally held up her hand. “Forgive me for interrupting, Mylas, but while I’m impressed with all the research you’ve done on Frosty Fasano, none of what you’ve told us explains why he would want to harm a high school counselor.”

“Just give me a few more minutes, and I think you’ll understand where I’m going with this.”

She flipped her hand toward me. “Okay, go ahead.”

Yeary said, “Before you do that, I might as well tell you I’ve heard of Luis Garza. I also know he has a questionable reputation. A couple of years ago, his name came up in a homicide investigation involving a couple of drug dealers. At the time, our narcotics detectives were looking into whether his legitimate businesses were distributing drugs as well as laundering money. I honestly don’t remember what happened with that investigation, though.”

Sarah looked at me. “So how is Garza involved with Mr. Fasano?”

After I explained that Fasano was a silent partner in ToughKleen Solutions and Harvest Valley Foods, and that these companies also had exclusive contracts with the Red Shield Academy, I said, “While it’s only speculation on my part, I think it’s possible Pogue is getting some kind of kickback from using Fasano’s companies as vendors for the school. Another possibility is that he’s getting paid for manipulating the invoices from the two businesses, and by doing so, he's using the Red Shield Academy to launder Garza’s drug money.”

“And you’re basing this on the fact Director Pogue and Mr. Fasano are good friends?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, partly.” I hesitated a moment since I wasn’t exactly sure where Nina had obtained the information about Pogue’s financial situation. Instead of going there, I went in a different direction. “My researcher also brought it to my attention that Riley Pogue and his wife live in an expensive home in an exclusive neighborhood, which seems a little out of reach for the director of a private high school.”

Yeary waffled his hand back and forth. “I don’t know about that. Some people inherit money, you know."

I thought I detected a note of humor in his voice, so perhaps Detective Yeary knew more about me than he was letting on.

I said, “As to what Cassandra could have overheard, perhaps she heard Fasano and Pogue arguing about the kickbacks, or maybe she heard Pogue telling Fasano that the Red Shield Academy was being investigated by a Senate oversight committee for misusing federal grant money.”

“After what you’ve told us about Mr. Fasano and the director, it could be any number of things,” Sarah said, “but right now, we have no proof Cassandra was even in that office.”

“I should have mentioned Kyle Ford was with me when I spoke to Director Pogue, and during the course of our conversation, he brought up the idea that perhaps Cassandra had stopped by to see him. The director was extremely adamant that nothing like that happened. He insisted he never saw Cassandra that day.”

Yeary nodded. “Yes, that’s what he told us too.”

Sarah asked, “Do you have anything else you want to share with us about your investigation, Mylas?”

“Just one more thing. It probably won’t surprise you to know I have a crew running surveillance on Frosty Fasano. However, he’s only visited some construction sites, and the whole time he’s been there, they haven’t seen him do anything even remotely suspicious.”

“And I doubt they will,” she said. “When we interviewed Mr. Fasano, he appeared to be the cautious type. He answered all our questions, but he didn’t volunteer anything, that’s for sure.”

I motioned toward Sarah with my free hand. “I assure you, if you don’t feel comfortable answering the question I’m about to ask you, I’ll understand, but in light of what I’ve told you, I’m wondering if you’ve discovered any evidence that would collaborate the claim Raul Hernandez made about Frosty Fasano killing Cassandra and burying her at one of his construction sites?”

Sarah put her hands together in a prayerful gesture, placing them in front of her lips for a brief moment. Then, after she shook her head a few times, she gestured toward me and said, “No, Mylas. I’m sorry to say, we haven’t found any evidence that would validate your theory of what happened to Cassandra.”

“Uh . . . okay. Obviously, I’m . . . uh . . . disappointed to hear that.”

She smiled a little. “So, in light of what you’ve told us, I believe there’s nothing else for us to do but to go out to Petersburg Prison and speak to Raul personally.”

I almost fell out of my chair. “That’s great. Is there anything you need from me?” I let out a short laugh. “If I seemed surprised, it’s only because I am. I didn’t think I’d convinced you to do that.”

“Frankly,” Sarah said, “I’m doing it to satisfy my own curiosity, but I have to say you were pretty convincing.” She looked over at Yeary. “What do you think, Don? Is there anything we need from Mylas?”

“Go ahead and send us that video of Raul driving Fasano’s car on the evening of January 11. If we show him that, he might think we have other proof as well.” He pulled one of his business cards from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to me. “You can use this email address to send it to us.”

Sarah said, “Keep in mind it may take us a day or two before we can get out to Petersburg. We’ll have to coordinate our visit with prison officials in order to get permission to conduct the interview.”

I nodded. “I’m aware of the process. I was a criminal defense attorney before I became a private investigator.”

“Then you understand we can’t offer him a deal to talk to us.”

“Uh-huh. That would involve a prosecutor, and I’m sure you don’t want to take that step until you’ve talked to Hernandez.”

Yeary said, “That doesn’t mean we can’t suggest the possibility of a reduced sentence or some other incentive if we think he’s willing to cooperate with us. As I’m sure you know, sometimes, that’s enough to entice a person to get chatty with us.”

“I hear you,” I said, “and it probably goes without saying that I’d appreciate it if you’d keep Lenny Dilbeck’s name out of the conversation. Since he’s on the outside now, he’s concerned about getting on Fasano’s radar.”

“If Mr. Fasano is mixed up in the drug trade, or some other illegal activities, he probably has reasons to be concerned,” Sarah said. “But don’t worry. Lenny’s name won’t come up in our interview with Raul Hernandez.”

After she made this statement, she looked over at Yeary and asked him if he had any more questions for me. When he said no, I handed them each one of my cards. “Feel free to call or text me anytime. I’m sure you know I’ll be anxious to hear what Hernandez has to say.”

As I walked them over to the door, Sarah said, “And we’d appreciate it if you’d keep us informed if you come across any new information related to Cassandra’s disappearance.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks again for dropping by.”

She pointed at my arm sling. “Don’t neglect doing the exercises they gave you for your shoulder, Mylas. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Detective Yeary looked amused at her comment, which made me wonder if she occasionally offered him motherly advice as well.

* * * * * *

After the detectives left, I called Leslie and updated her on the interview Ford and I had with Riley Pogue, and I also let her know I’d just had a meeting with the DC Police detectives who were handling Cassandra’s case.

She seemed almost as surprised as I was by their willingness to set up a meeting with Hernandez. “You must have been very persuasive. I might need to take some lessons from you.”

“No, that wasn’t it. The lead detective, Sarah Welch, is just an inquisitive soul. From what I can tell, she approaches situations with the mindset of getting all her questions answered and doesn’t rest until she does.”

“Umm. That sounds like a description of someone else I know.”

I laughed. “I’m sure you mean Kyle. And speaking of him, I better end this phone call so I can contact him before I leave for the day.”

After updating Ford about my conversation with the detectives, I looked down at my watch and realized it was four forty-five, and since I’d told Joe I’d meet him in the parking lot at four-thirty, he’d probably been sitting out there for thirty minutes already.

As usual, Joe didn’t have much to say when I slipped in the passenger seat and apologized to him for keeping him waiting.

“No problem.” He gestured toward the dashboard. “I’ve been listening to the radio.”

However, as he pulled out of the parking lot at the back of the Greystone Center—reserved for MGI employees only—he gestured over at the guest parking lot near the front entrance and said, “See that green Chevy Tahoe over there?”

I glanced in the direction he was pointing and said, “Yeah, what about it?”

“It arrived a couple of minutes after I did, and it’s been sitting there with the engine running ever since. I thought that was a little odd.”

As he headed down 15th Street toward the freeway, I said, “I agree, but maybe they’re picking someone up.”

I took a quick look in my side-view mirror.

The moment I did, the Chevy Tahoe pulled out of the parking lot and turned on 15th Street, a few car lengths behind us.

Joe was approaching a cross street where a traffic light at the intersection had just turned yellow, so I motioned toward the light and said, “If you can do it safely, try to make that light.”

He made it through without a problem, but just as he did, the light turned red.

The Chevy Tahoe went through anyway.

Joe knew what was happening. “So the Chevy’s following us, huh?”

“It sure looks that way.”

“Should I go ahead and get on the expressway?”

“Yeah, let’s see what he does when you do that.”

What the Tahoe did was stay several car lengths behind us, so when we were two exits away from the exit I normally took, I told Joe not to signal he was getting off, but to move in front of a large heavy-duty truck in the far-right lane and to take the exit at the last second.

He executed this maneuver perfectly.

As he did so, I saw the Tahoe continuing on down the expressway behind the truck, which made me wonder how long it would be before he realized he’d lost us.

“So what was that about?” Joe asked, heading toward Greenville Road, a parallel route that would eventually take us over to Wesley Heights, where my house was located.

“I’m not sure, but I’m gonna try to find out.”

“You don’t think it has anything to do with helping Lenny, do you?”

“I doubt it, and by the way, you can tell Lenny the police detectives assigned to Cassandra’s case will be paying Raul a visit at Petersburg Prison soon, but they assured me they won’t bring up his name when they question Raul.”

“How are they gonna question him without bringing up Lenny’s name?”

“I found some video from a security camera which showed Raul was driving Frosty Fasano’s car near the Red Shield Academy where Cassandra was last seen on January 11, so they’ll use that video to ask him some questions. Whether he’ll answer them or not is another matter.”

As Joe pulled the Audi up to the security gate outside my driveway, I checked my side-view mirror one last time.

There was no sign of the Chevy Tahoe.

Although I told Joe I didn’t think the Tahoe had anything to do with my helping Lenny, that wasn’t exactly true.

I didn’t think it had anything to do with Lenny.

I figured it might have something to do with Frosty Fasano.

* * * * * *

After I made arrangements for Joe to take me to my physical therapy appointment at ten o’clock Thursday morning, I walked in the house, where I was greeted by the enticing smell of freshly baked bread and the sight of Babe running around in circles—displaying his unbounded joy at seeing me after I’d been gone for a few hours.

Once I gave Babe my full attention for several minutes, I did the same for Mrs. Higbee, who offered me a slice of her homemade bread.

“You can have a piece as long as you promise it won’t spoil your dinner. I’ve got a beef tenderloin in the oven.”

I did so “solemnly promise” by raising my right hand, after which she handed me a plate with a large slice of buttered bread on it that I took with me when I went back to my study.

Babe followed me in there, despite the fact I warned him I wasn’t sharing my food with him today. Even though he didn’t look all that happy about it, he didn’t bug me either, which led me to believe he might have had his fill of treats already.

While I was eating, I gave Chase Reed a call.

“Hey, Chase, it’s Mylas. Can you talk?”

“Yeah, no problem. Hank and I are parked across the street from the Liberty Landworks building. Fasano still hasn’t left for the day.”

“So what has the guy been doing for the past couple of days?”

“Basically, he’s been coming into the office, going out for lunch, returning to his office, and then heading to his house. He hasn’t visited any more construction sites since the first day we followed him.”

“Is there a lot of traffic going in and out of his building? Does he have many visitors?”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty busy place. Of course, we have no idea who’s coming to see him. He has a lot of employees who work here. Do you have someone specific in mind we should be looking for?”

“Have you seen a BMW there? I found out Riley Pogue drives a BMW, and I was just wondering if you’ve seen him there today. I could send you his picture if you needed it.”

“As a matter of fact, we did see a BMW here.” He paused and verified the time with Hank. “It was around noon.”

After I gave him a description of Pogue, he said, “That sounds like the guy we saw, all right. He stayed for about thirty minutes. We haven’t been photographing the people going in and out of the building, but do you want us to start doing that?”

“Yeah, go ahead and do that. Does anyone who works there drive a Chevy Tahoe? Or for that matter, has anyone shown up there who drives one?”

“Uh . . . yeah. One of the construction guys drives a Tahoe.”

“What color is it?”

“It’s a two-tone job, red and gray.”

“Nope. That’s not it. I had a green one tailing Joe and me after we left the Greystone Center about thirty minutes ago. We lost him when we exited the freeway.”

“So what’s going on there?”

“I’m not sure, although after Kyle and I met with Director Pogue today, it occurred to me he might tell Fasano about the questions we were asking, so maybe Fasano decided to check me out.”

“Well, like I said, we saw Pogue here around noon, so maybe that’s what happened. Did you learn anything after talking to him?”

I hit the highlights of our appointment with Pogue and what we found out from the janitor, and then I went over my meeting with Detectives Welch and Yeary. Once I finished, Chase said, “It sounds like Pogue may have gotten in over his head when he got involved with Fasano and Garza. Maybe that’s why he hightailed it over here after you talked to him.”

“Yep, that’s what I’m thinking too. In my mind, it makes Pogue look guilty of something, that’s for sure.”

“Would you like for me to set up surveillance on Pogue too?”

“I was just about to ask you to do that. I don’t think he hired someone to tail me, but I could see Fasano calling up his buddy, Luis Garza, and having him send one of his people to check me out.”

“So you’re gonna be watching your back tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, but that won’t be a problem. After my PT appointment in the morning, I’m going into the office and just hanging out there while I wait to hear from Detective Welch.”

“Okay, I’ll probably see you there tomorrow. Take care.”

“Be careful yourself, Chase. Our visit with Pogue may have stirred up a hornet’s nest, so make sure you and Hank are also taking precautions on your stakeout.”

“Will do. Thanks for your concern.”

As I hung up, I realized I was concerned.

I just wasn’t sure why.

PART FOUR

Chapter 17

Thursday, January 27

After breakfast, I had an hour before Joe and I had to leave for my physical therapy session, so I spent the time making a couple of phone calls. The first one was to Kathleen Simmons.

She sounded excited to hear from me, but I figured that was because she thought I might have good news for her. I was sorry I had to dispel that notion.

“I wish I had some good news to tell you, Kathleen, but I’m still in the process of trying to verify what the inmate from Petersburg told me. However, yesterday, I felt like I’d gathered enough new information to share it with the police detectives handling Cassandra’s case, so you may be hearing from them soon.”

“Thank you for letting me know, Mylas. I just keep praying you’ll find out what happened to her.”

“I really believe we’ll have some answers soon.”

“Yes, so do I. And by the way, I got an email from your assistant, Greta Travis, yesterday. The contract was attached to it, and I’ve already signed it and sent it back to her. She also included a very sweet personal note of encouragement to me in there. I admit her kind words really surprised me.”

“Is that right? Well, Greta often surprises me too.”

* * * * * *

My second phone call was to Whitney, but I quickly realized I should have called her before I called Kathleen, because we hadn’t talked more than a couple of minutes before she asked me what was wrong.

Since I was still feeling despondent about not being able to offer Kathleen any reassurance her daughter was alive, I suspected Whitney must have heard the lingering sadness in my voice, so without giving it a whole lot of thought, I told her what I’d been working on for the past several days.

She said, “When you told me you were helping Joe’s friend with a problem, I had a feeling you were involved in an investigation, but I never would have guessed it had anything to do with the missing woman who’s been on the national news the past several weeks.”

“To be truthful, it’s been a lot tougher running the investigation than I anticipated it would be.”

“I’m sure it has.” She laughed. “After all, you’re working with one hand tied behind your back—so to speak.”

“You’re right. My damaged shoulder has made it a lot more difficult on me physically, but this investigation has also been hard on me emotionally, especially within the last twenty-four hours.”

“Why is that?”

“Because everything I’ve learned makes me think Hernandez was telling the truth about Cassandra. I don’t believe she’s alive. I believe someone murdered her.”

“Oh, Mylas, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“While I’m not completely sure of what the motivation was for her killing, I see it as a deliberate act of pure evil, and I also believe the person responsible for her murder is operating under a cloak of respectability, which in some ways, makes it even worse.”

“Are you talking about Director Pogue or the real estate developer, Mr. Fasano?”

“I don’t know yet, but it hardly matters. Whoever killed her did it for self-serving reasons, and yet everyone describes Cassandra as just the opposite. They talk about her as a selfless person who’s devoted her entire life to helping others.”

“Perhaps that can be true about her death as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean when you discover who did it, you’ll expose them, and perhaps a lot of people will end up being helped when you do that.”

I was quiet as I thought about what she said.

“Well, if I wasn’t motivated before, I am now. Thanks for your confidence in me, Whitney. And you’re right. I’ll make sure her death wasn’t in vain.”

“Don’t neglect your own health while you’re doing it.”

“Not to worry. I’m on my way to my PT appointment right now.”

* * * * * *

As soon as Joe pulled out of our driveway and headed toward the entrance to Wesley Heights, I kept an eye on my side-view mirror to make sure we weren’t being followed.

There weren’t any cars behind us, so that was an easy task.

Once we were on the highway, it got a little more difficult, but I was confident no one in a Chevy Tahoe was shadowing us.

However, Reservoir Road, where the Benchmark Rehabilitation Center was located, had several medical facilities on either side of it, so when we exited the highway, a number of cars followed us.

Joe asked, “What do you think? Is anyone tailing us today?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. And I could have been wrong about yesterday. In my line of work, I’m always a little paranoid.”

“When I was on the inside, I stayed that way. It took me a while to get over it. I probably should warn Lenny that’s gonna happen.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

As Joe pulled into the parking lot at the rehab center, I said, “My appointment will take an hour, so you’ve got plenty of time to go get yourself a cup of coffee, but as soon as I’m finished here, I’d like for you to drive me over to the Greystone Center.”

He nodded. “Sure. I’ll be out here when you’re done.”

Once I checked in, I didn’t have to wait more than a couple of minutes before an attendant called my name and took me back to one of the private rehab rooms where Jessica was waiting for me.

Once we greeted each other, she asked how I was doing, and if I’d had any problems with the exercises she’d sent home with me.

“No, I didn’t have any problems with them,” I said.

“I didn’t think you would. You seem like a disciplined person.”

I didn’t comment.

After she had me take off my sling and lie face down on the exam table, she applied a warm compress to my shoulder, explaining once again that she was doing this to loosen up my muscles prior to beginning my exercises.

Before she left the room, she lowered the lights and told me to just relax and enjoy the music, and she’d be back in twenty minutes.

Because I’d never been a fan of soft, repetitive instrumental music with a bunch of synthesizer tones that sounded like aliens speaking to each other, I grimaced when she told me to “enjoy the music.”

However, I quickly turned my head away from her when I made the face. During a previous session, she’d made a comment about how much she liked the music, so even though I hated it, I wasn’t about to offend someone who’d be working on my shoulder in a few minutes.

Since I found the music so irritating, I briefly considered getting off the exam table and grabbing my phone from the counter across the room so I could call Nina and see if she had anything new to share with me about Pogue or Fasano.

Within a few minutes, though, I found myself relaxing.

Even so, when I heard the door open, I didn’t think it had been twenty minutes.

“That was quick,” I said.

However, the moment I felt a beefy hand slap the compress off my shoulder and begin squeezing my injured flesh, I knew it wasn’t Jessica who had walked in the room.

When I tried to turn my head to see who was torturing me, he pressed his other hand against my head to keep it pinned to the table and said, “I’ve got a message for you, Grey. Don’t stick your nose in other people’s business. Keep it up, and somebody’s gonna get hurt.”

He gave my shoulder one final excruciating squeeze before he released his hold on me. As painful as it was, I managed to turn my head toward the door just as he jerked it open and fled.

Although I wasn’t able to see his face, I noticed he was wearing medical scrubs like the other Benchmark attendants, but the pair of steel-toed combat boots he had on told me he wasn’t an employee.

In his rush to get away, he left the door open, and as I swung my legs over the exam table in an attempt to go after him, Jessica walked by and saw me.

“What are you doing, Mylas? Your time’s not up yet.”

“Uh . . . I . . . uh . . . need to go to the restroom.”

“Sure. It’s right across the hall here.”

When I returned, she took me down to the main therapy room and proceeded to direct me through the mobility exercises. Although I was still feeling some discomfort from my encounter with the Combat Boot guy, I managed to get through them.

However, when I walked out to the parking lot and got inside the passenger seat of my Audi, the first thing I did was look inside the seat console and locate my bottle of headache medicine.

Once I took two of the pain relievers, Joe asked, “Did you have a rough session?”

“Yeah, it was pretty rough.”

I debated with myself whether to tell Joe about the Combat Boot guy, but once I made sure we weren’t being followed, I decided not to say anything.

The guy had only been delivering a message.

The question was, who had sent him?

* * * * * *

Before Joe dropped me off at the Greystone Center, I asked him to go through the drive-through at a fast-food place so I could take a hamburger up to my office and eat it while I met with Nina.

I admit I was anxious to tell her about my encounter with the Combat Boot guy. The problem was, when I got up to my office and buzzed her on the intercom, she didn’t answer, nor did I get a response when I sent her a text and asked her to come and see me.

I figured she might just come and see me instead of answering the text, so while I waited, I gobbled down my burger and fries.

Then, just when I was about to go down the hall to check on her, my phone rang.

It wasn’t Nina, though.

It was Detective Welch.

“Good afternoon, Mylas. This is Sarah Welch. Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Sure, Detective. What’s going on?”

“I wanted to let you know that Detective Yeary and I received permission to speak to Raul Hernandez at the federal prison in Petersburg tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

“Bright and early, huh?”

“As you probably know, that’s fairly normal.”

“If I remember correctly, the inmates are being escorted to their day jobs at that time, so prison officials prefer to give law enforcement and lawyers early appointments. That makes it easy for a guard to take them to an interview room without the other inmates knowing they’re speaking to someone from the outside.”

“Yeah, that’s the thinking behind it, although it never ceases to amaze me how quickly word spreads through the prison population in just a couple of hours.”

“I’ll be having my last rehab appointment tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” I said, “but once I’m finished there, I’ll be available the rest of the day. If you want, I could have my driver take me over to division headquarters so I could meet with you and Detective Yeary.”

I heard her chuckle a little, so I added, “If it sounds like I’m eager to hear what Hernandez has to say to you, it’s only because I am.”

“Since you’ve done a lot of work on this case, I can understand that. But why don’t I give you a call once we’ve talked to him? If he refuses to speak to us, there wouldn’t be much point in us getting together to discuss what he said.”

“No, you’re right. That’s fine.”

“And by the way, we’ve requested our session with Hernandez be recorded, so if he’s willing to talk to us, you’ll be able to see the interview on video.”

“I really appreciate it, Detective. Thanks a lot.”

“Just returning the favor, Mylas.”

* * * * * *

After I hung up with the detective, I still hadn’t heard from Nina, so instead of waiting for her, I decided to walk down and check on her. When I was halfway there, she came out of her office.

“I was just on my way down to see you,” she said, giving me a wave.

“Since I’m already here, why don’t we talk in your office?”

“Sure, that’s fine. How are you? You look a little pale.”

“Let’s just say I’ve had better days.”

“Sorry I didn’t answer your call earlier. I was on the phone with Mona Herman. Did you ever meet her when you were on Capitol Hill? She’s Senator Ted Whitehead’s assistant.”

“Uh-huh. I talked to her several times. Senator Whitehead is on the Judiciary Committee with Senator Allen.”

“He’s also on OCEG, the Senate oversight committee, the one investigating the misuse of educational grant monies. I finally called her when I wasn’t able to find out why they were looking into the Red Shield Academy. I figured if anyone would be able to tell me what’s going on with their investigation, it would be Mona.”

As we sat down at her desk, I said, “By that twinkle in your eye, I’m guessing you learned something.”

“Oh, you bet I did. In fact, I learned a lot more than I thought I would. Are you ready to hear it, or would you rather tell me what’s going on with you first?”

“No, you go ahead. I can wait.”

“Okay, so she said the committee was alerted to some questionable financial irregularities at the school by the Inspector General at the Department of Education. In the memo, the IG explained that the Drug Enforcement Agency was looking into the possibility a vendor under contract to the Red Shield Academy was laundering drug money through the school’s federal grants.”

“Did she tell you the vendor’s name?”

“No, all she told me was that it was the vendor selling janitorial supplies to the school, so that has to be ToughKleen Solutions, which as we both know, is owned by none other than Luis Garza and Frosty Fasano.”

When Nina announced this, she gave me a triumphant look.

I took that as my cue to tell her what a good job she’d done in tracking down this information, and after she basked in my praise for a moment, I asked her to send me a memo of what she’d learned so I could share it with the DC police detectives.

“By the way,” I said, “I was able to convince them to go out to the prison and interview Raul Hernandez, but personally, I believe it was the video from the CCTV cameras at the gas station that gave them the reason to do it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Like I’ve told you before, it’s facts that convince people, not feelings.”

“I don’t know, Nina, the feelings I had when I was being threatened today were pretty convincing.”

She stared at me for a moment. “So give me the facts.”

Chapter 18

Nina continued staring at me while I described my encounter with the Combat Boot guy, and then when I finished, she nodded and told me to wait a second while she looked up something.

Less than a minute later, she turned one of her monitors around so it was facing me. “When I was doing research on Frosty and the Liberty Landworks business, I came across this video from Channel 25 news which shows the groundbreaking ceremony last year for the Heritage Hills Housing units on Cambridge Road.”

As the video started playing, she kept talking. “Since I showed you the promotional video on the Liberty Landworks website, I didn’t bother showing you this one, but as you can see, Frosty’s bodyguard, Tyrone Slayton, and his driver, Raul Hernandez, are standing behind Frosty as he’s about to symbolically begin this housing project by turning over a shovelful of dirt. The dignitaries you see standing next to him are from the mayor’s office and the chamber of commerce.”

I watched the video once, and then I asked her to run it again. “Okay, freeze it at the forty-five-second mark.”

“Do you understand why I wanted you to see it now?”

“Yes,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “Frosty’s bodyguard is wearing a pair of steel-toed combat boots. He also has the same build as the guy who paid me a visit today.”

“When he told you not to stick your nose in somebody’s business, did he specify whose business he was talking about?”

“No, I think he assumed I knew who he was talking about.”

“Did he say how somebody might get hurt?”

“No, he wasn’t specific about that either.”

She shrugged. “He was sent to deliver you a message, all right, but in my opinion, he did a poor job of it.”

“I disagree with you, Nina,” I said, touching my shoulder. “I believe I got the message loud and clear.” I hesitated a moment. “But I also learned something, so maybe it was worth it.”

“I assume you learned you’re on Fasano’s radar now, which I don’t consider a good thing.”

“Yeah, but since Frosty decided he needed to send me a message, I figure he has to be connected to Cassandra’s disappearance, which means this investigation is on the right track.”

“How do you think Fasano found out you’re involved with Cassandra’s investigation?”

“When I talked to Chase last night, he said Pogue showed up at Fasano’s office around noon yesterday, so I believe he drove over there immediately after Kyle and I left the school and told him.”

“Sounds like Riley Pogue got scared.”

“And that’s probably why Fasano decided to send me a message.”

She motioned toward my shoulder. “But you’re okay, aren’t you? The guy didn’t set your recovery back, did he?”

“No, I was able to make it through my therapy session without a problem, so I think I’m okay. I probably won’t be able to do my exercises tonight, though.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “Seriously? Since when have you ever done any kind of exercises?”

“What about throwing the ball to Babe? Doesn’t that count?”

* * * * * *

When I left Nina, I stepped across the hall to Leslie’s office to ask her about the new client she’d interviewed on Wednesday, plus, since I’d promised to keep her updated, I wanted to let her know when the detectives would be speaking to Hernandez.

I admit I was a little taken aback when Leslie opened the door wearing her reading glasses and holding a book in her hand.

The thick glossy paperback was entitled Disappearing into the Shadows, and the book’s cover—from what I could see of it—showed a shadowy image of a young woman’s face with a lonely mountain cabin in the background.

I chuckled. “I guess I don’t have to ask you if you’re busy.”

She laughed. “I know you may find this hard to believe, but I’m actually working.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I just came by to update you on Cassandra’s case and to ask you about our new client. You met with Dennis Vassar yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. Come on in and have a seat, and I’ll tell you more about why he hired us. He’s the reason I’m reading this paperback.”

The color scheme in Leslie’s office was similar to mine—which was intentional on the part of Inez, the interior designer responsible for decorating the Greystone Center—and since Greta loved uniformity, I figured her decorating style was the reason she’d recommended I hire Inez in the first place. However, Leslie had added her own personal touches to her office, including a large pink elephant in a corner of the room, an animal print waste basket, and some pink and charcoal throw pillows on the gray leather sofa.

I moved one of the pillows aside as I sat down on the sofa.

After Leslie took a seat in one of the purple chairs across from me, she held up the book and said, “I have a feeling this is going to be one of the most interesting cases I’ve ever investigated. According to Mr. Vassar, or Dennis, as he insisted I call him, his daughter, Ellen, became so fascinated by this book that she used it as a guide for how to disappear and start a new life, and now he wants our agency to find out where she’s living.”

“Can I assume that’s the plot of Disappearing into the Shadows? Does someone disappear and start a new life?”

“Yes, that’s basically it. It’s about a woman named Amy Whitaker who works on Capitol Hill, but when she becomes disillusioned with politics, she erases her digital footprint and embraces an off-the-grid existence by relocating to a remote area of Montana. Ellen Vassar’s life is somewhat similar to this fictional woman because Ellen was a legislative aide to Congressman Ryan Melton before she disappeared.”

“When you say Ellen Vassar disappeared, do you mean she didn’t tell anyone what she was doing? Did she just walk away from her job?”

“No, she resigned from her position in Congressman Melton’s office and said she was accepting a position at a tech company in Chicago. At least, that’s what she told her father and her friends. But then, about three weeks after she did that, Dennis received a letter from her telling him not to worry about her, that she preferred to live a solitary life, and that she wouldn’t be communicating with him again. She assured him she had access to cash, adequate housing, and medical care if she needed it.”

“So her father wants to find her, even though Ellen doesn’t want anyone to know where she’s living, and he’s hired us to do it.”

“That’s right. He wasn’t able to give me any idea where to start looking, but he suggested I read this book, because the last time he had lunch with Ellen, she had this book with her, and she couldn’t stop talking about it. She said she found it a fascinating novel because she could completely identify with the main character.”

“Well, I take back my sarcastic remark then. You’re not just sitting around reading a novel; you’re actually working.” I let out a short laugh. “In my defense, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone trying to find a missing person by reading a novel.”

She laid the book down on the coffee table and gestured toward me. “What about your missing person case? Tell me what happened when you interviewed Director Pogue yesterday.”

“I took Kyle with me as my backup, and you’ll be interested to know that during the interview, Pogue got very agitated when Kyle questioned him about the possibility Fasano might know something about Cassandra’s disappearance.”

“You mean agitated like he was guilty of something?”

“Exactly, and when we talked to the janitor, we found out Pogue has access to the school’s security cameras and could have caused the glitch in the video. We also learned he and Fasano were the last ones to leave the school that day.”

“It sounds like you had a very successful day, and since Kyle knows how to be pushy, it was probably a good thing you had him with you when you interviewed Pogue.”

I noticed there was a slight edge to Leslie’s voice when she mentioned Ford’s name. It reminded me of her response when I asked her how she had enjoyed the basketball game with him, and although I was tempted to ask her about it, she usually wasn’t shy about expressing her feelings about someone, so I decided not to bring it up.

Instead I said, “Once we got back here to the office yesterday, Nina showed me the video from a gas station security camera that’s near the school, and in that video, it clearly shows Hernandez was driving Fasano’s vehicle around five o’clock on January 11. Since it’s the first piece of physical evidence we’ve found that connects Hernandez to Fasano on that day, we were both pretty excited about it.”

“It doesn’t exactly prove Hernandez was telling the truth about Cassandra, but at least it does make what Lenny overheard him telling the other inmate sound credible.”

“That’s the reason I went ahead and called the detectives handling Cassandra’s case and told them I had some information about her. I guess I made it sound enticing enough, because they came over here to the office yesterday afternoon to hear what I had to say.”

After I told Leslie that our meeting ended with a promise from Detective Welch to go out to Petersburg and interview Hernandez, she seemed almost as surprised as I was.

“That’s good news, Mylas. Have you told Kathleen yet?”

“Yes, but when I called and updated her on our progress, I got the feeling she’s resigned herself to hearing the news that Cassandra’s no longer alive, which I’m beginning to believe myself.”

“But what possible reason would Frosty Fasano have for killing Cassandra? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I agree. On the surface it doesn’t make sense, but Nina’s been able to dig up some incriminating connections between Fasano and a drug dealer-turned-businessman named Luis Garza, and it turns out they also have connections to Pogue and the Red Shield Academy, which is probably how Cassandra got messed up in it.”

Once I gave her the full picture of what Nina had turned up about the money laundering, we discussed how Cassandra might have learned about it, and then she asked me, “So what’s Kyle’s opinion about the case? I’m sure he gave you one.”

This time there was no mistaking the disparaging tone in her voice when she brought up Ford’s name, and since I got the impression she wanted me to comment on it, I did.

“Yes,” I said, “Kyle offered his opinion about the case, but he wasn’t belligerent about it. Feel free to tell me if I’m wrong, Leslie, but it sounds like you think he’s too aggressive about his opinions.”

She looked up at the ceiling a moment, and then she nodded. “Yes, I think he’s out of line. Maybe his aggressiveness only shows up when someone expresses a different opinion than he has. It certainly showed up the night we went to the basketball game together.”

I smiled. “Are we talking about sports now? Most people have very strong opinions about sports, you know.”

She didn’t return my smile. “No, I’m not talking about sports. On the way home from the game Saturday night, he said something about needing to be at his church earlier than usual the next morning, and then he asked me where I went to church. When I told him I didn’t attend church and never had, he asked me why, and when I told him I didn’t have any need for church, he proceeded to tell me about his personal beliefs. I’m not kidding, Mylas, he was adamant about them.”

“What do you mean by adamant?”

“He told me in no uncertain terms that he has a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, that he feels God’s presence with him all the time, and the reason he loves going to church is because he enjoys worshipping with other believers who feel the same way.”

“Did you think he was—”

“I told him I wasn’t opposed to anyone’s religion or belief system; I just didn’t need it in my life, and then he said, ‘What about your eternal life?’ When I asked him what he meant by that, he told me when I die, I’ll either be spending eternity in heaven or in hell, and the choice will depend on whether I have a personal relationship with Jesus while I’m alive on this earth. As he was telling me this, it didn’t seem to matter to him that I wasn’t interested in becoming a believer. He really wanted me to believe, like right then.”

“It sounds like the evening didn’t end on a very good note.”

“It was fine. I just told him I’d think about what he said. Since I was polite about it, I’m pretty sure he didn’t know how upset I was.”

“To be completely honest with you, Leslie, I admit I’m surprised by your reaction to what he said. I distinctly remember telling you about my own experience of faith last year when I was in Columbia looking for Senator Allen’s daughter, and I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned attending church here in Washington with Nathan. As I recall, you’ve never said anything to me about that bothering you.”

She shook her head. “No, but when you were telling me about what happened to you, it didn’t sound like you were urging me to do anything. Kyle was definitely pushing me to become a believer too.”

“Maybe he was just concerned about you. I remember how emphatic my brother Curtis was when he was talking to me about making a commitment of faith. When I pushed back and told him he was coming on pretty strong, he told me it was only because he was concerned about me. I think that could be true of Kyle as well.”

Leslie was quiet as she looked down at her lap for a few seconds. “Well, maybe so. I admit I really like Kyle otherwise.” When she looked up at me again, she smiled. “Would you believe he even quoted some Bible verses to me about how I could become a believer?”

I chuckled a little. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me doing that. I haven’t memorized any Bible verses yet. In fact, so far, I’ve only read through a couple of books in the Bible.”

She rolled her eyes. “And that’s something else Kyle suggested I do.” She pointed down at the paperback on the coffee table. “Right now, I have to read a novel so I can help a client find his daughter. Thankfully, unlike Cassandra Simmons, it doesn’t sound like anything horrible has happened to Ellen Vassar.”

All of a sudden, just as Leslie finished talking, I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, and I quickly moved over toward the edge of the sofa a little, hoping to take some of the pressure off of it. However, my movements didn’t escape Leslie’s attention. “Is your shoulder giving you a problem today?”

“Yeah, a little. But it’s only because when Fasano’s bodyguard paid me a visit to the rehab center today, he pounded on it a few times.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Why didn’t you say something about that earlier? What happened?”

“I think we got sidetracked talking about Kyle.”

After I went through what happened, Leslie said, “Do you have an appointment at the rehab center tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and I’m hoping my therapist will let me get rid of this sling when I’m done.”

“Why don’t I take you? I can stay out in the waiting room and read my book while I keep my eye out for any unwanted messenger boys who might show up to pay you another visit.”

“Sure, if you wanna be my chauffeur, that’s fine. By the time I’m done with my therapy, I’ll probably hear from Detective Welch about whether Hernandez was willing to talk to them. If he was, then I’ll need to go over to division headquarters and discuss it with them.”

“That’s even better. I’m just as anxious to hear what he has to say as you are.”

Once we arranged for her to pick me up at my house around nine, I went back to my office and texted Joe that I was ready to head home.

While I was waiting for him to show up, I gave Reed a call.

After I went over what happened to me at the rehab center, I said, “Nina showed me an old video of a groundbreaking ceremony where Tyrone Slayton was in the background wearing combat boots. He’s also built like the guy I saw walking out of my therapy room, so I’m sure you can guess what I’m about to ask you.”

“Yeah, you wanna know if Slayton was here with Fasano at Liberty Landworks all morning.”

“That’s right.”

“No, he wasn’t. He left shortly after he arrived with Fasano this morning around eight forty-five. He wasn’t driving Fasano’s vehicle, though. He was in a black pickup, a Ford F-150. When we saw him leaving, Hank and I both commented that he looked like he was in a hurry to get where he was going.”

“That’s probably because his boss told him to deliver a message.”

“I’m glad that’s all he delivered. You can rest easy, though. He’s back here at Liberty Landworks now.”

“Be sure and let me know if he does the same thing tomorrow morning. That’s when the police detectives investigating Cassandra’s disappearance will be out at Petersburg having a talk with Hernandez, and it’s possible word could get back to Fasano about it.”

“I hear you. If Fasano finds out they’re talking to his driver, he’ll figure out you didn’t heed his warning, and he could send Slayton to deliver another message.”

“Yeah, but it may not be just a message this time. He might follow through on his promise to hurt somebody—like me for example.”

“In that case, I’d suggest you have Kyle come with you to watch your back.”

“Kyle’s tied up with his first case right now, but Leslie volunteered to be there, so I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, that sounds good, and I’ll let you know if we notice anything unusual happening over here.”

“Yeah, keep me informed. There are a lot more moving parts to this thing than I first thought there were, and I admit it’s making me feel a little uneasy that some bad actors are taking an interest in me now.”

When I hung up the phone, I asked myself if I was being paranoid.

I decided I wasn’t.

PART FIVE

Chapter 19

Friday, January 28

After I finished breakfast—French toast with maple syrup—I had an hour before Leslie was supposed to pick me up, so I texted Whitney to see if she could talk. She texted me back immediately and asked me to wait thirty minutes before I called her.

After thinking about it a couple of seconds, I decided to call Ford.

I did it for a couple of reasons.

For one thing, I couldn’t stop thinking about my conversation with Leslie and her feelings about Ford being pushy about his faith.

Since he’d never been forceful with me about anything, it made me wonder if she’d been exaggerating, or if her discomfort was because she thought he might be right, and their discussion was making her think about things she hadn’t thought about before, or didn’t want to think about.

Since I hadn’t talked to him in a couple of days, I was also curious to hear how his first case was going.

Ford answered after one ring, and when I asked him if he had time to talk, he said he was just sitting in his office at MGI waiting for Buzz to show up. “He’s taking me over to Piney Woods Park so he can show me how the surveillance drone works. I hope that’s okay. You know I’m lousy with technical stuff, but I’d still like to see what the drone can do so I can figure out the best way to use it.”

“That’s not a problem. I’m glad you’re doing that.”

“I hope I can use the drone to see if my client’s husband is hiding out in a gated condominium complex. I figure if I can spot his car somewhere in the complex, then the lawyer can find a way to serve him with the divorce papers.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me, and Buzz is an expert at using the drone, so you’ve picked the right guy to give you some lessons.”

“What’s happening with Cassandra’s case? Anything new?”

Once I gave him a quick update, I said, “Leslie will be here in a few minutes to take me to my last rehab appointment, and by the time I’m finished there, I’ll probably hear from Detective Welch about their meeting with Raul Hernandez.”

“I guess Leslie’s been pretty busy. I haven’t seen her since we went out Saturday night. Did she say anything to you about how she enjoyed the game?”

“Actually, Kyle, the only thing she told me was that the two of you had a pretty intense discussion about your faith. To be truthful, she was a little upset about it.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “That doesn’t surprise me. I was a little shocked at myself for bringing it up with her because I’m not usually so outspoken about what I believe. I couldn’t stop myself, though. I just felt impressed to say something to her at that moment. That doesn’t happen to me very often, but when it does, I don’t hesitate to go with it.”

“Like I’ve told you before, Kyle, I’m new to Christianity, so I’m not sure I could persuade someone to become a believer, much less tell them how to do it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you brought it up with her. She’s obviously been thinking about what you said.”

“I really care about Leslie, so I’m sorry if she thought I was being pushy.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “Maybe I should apologize to her for coming on so strong. What do you think?”

“That’s up to you, but I’m pretty sure if you did, Leslie would accept your apology, and in the end, it might be good for both of you. My dad used to tell Curtis and me, ‘An apology is like oil in an engine—it reduces friction, keeps things running smoothly, and prevents a breakdown.’ ”

“That sounds exactly like something my dad would say. Okay, thanks for letting me know. My faith is such an important part of my life, I just wanted to share it with her.”

“I’m glad you did. I probably should do more of that myself.”

He let out a short laugh. “Well, be prepared to offend some people. Not everyone wants to consider where they’ll be spending eternity.”

“Yeah, I get that. Until I found myself at the mercy of someone who put a gun to my head, I didn’t give it a lot of thought either.”

“You’ve never told me the full story of what happened there.”

“I would tell you right now, but I need to call Whitney before Leslie gets here to pick me up.”

“Sure, I’ll let you go then. Of course, you know I wanna hear what Hernandez tells the detectives.”

“Yeah, you and me both.”

* * * * * *

My conversation with Whitney mostly consisted of her describing how she’d been getting her house ready so her realtor could show it to a potential buyer on Sunday.

She was so excited about the possibility of getting it sold before she left Columbia next week that I decided not to bring up the subject of my encounter with Fasano’s bodyguard. Thus, when she asked me if anything new had happened about finding Cassandra, I told her I should know more by this evening.

“Today’s your last day of physical therapy, isn’t it?” she asked.

“That’s right. No more sling after today.”

“But you’ll still have to continue doing your exercises at home, won’t you?”

“Uh . . . yeah. The therapist mentioned I should keep doing them.”

“Does she know you’ve basically been working full time, even though you’re supposed to be taking it easy?”

I laughed. “No, I haven’t mentioned it. Unless she asks me a direct question, I don’t feel obligated to tell her what’s going on with me.”

“Hmm. I wonder if that’s true for me too.”

“I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.”

* * * * * *

When Leslie picked me up and we were headed over to the rehab center, I was tempted to tell her about my conversation with Ford, but after I thought about it a couple of seconds, I kept my mouth shut.

I figured if I said something, it would sound like I was apologizing for him, and I didn’t think that would be good for their relationship.

She didn’t bring up anything about Ford either.

Instead, after I told her I’d contacted Reed, and he’d given me a description of the vehicle Fasano’s bodyguard drove, we both concentrated on making sure there was no sign of a black Ford F-150 shadowing us as we made our way over to the Benchmark Rehab Center.

Even though we agreed we didn’t see any evidence of a tail, when we walked in the building, I had to smile when she told me she would be on the lookout for any suspicious characters who showed up in the waiting room. I found her comment amusing because when the receptionist saw Leslie taking a seat in the waiting room, she was eyeing her a little suspiciously.

I figured that was because of the way Leslie was dressed—black leather pants, a white silk blouse, red boots, and an oversized black and white jacket which resembled a cowhide.

She also had a red leather handbag over her shoulder, which was where I assumed she was carrying her gun, because when the attendant came to get me, Leslie opened up her handbag, pulled out her paperback, and left her handbag open at her side.

As it turned out, I wasn’t left alone in a therapy room during my final session, so I was never in danger of a visit from Tyrone Slayton.

My final session consisted of Jessica evaluating my range of motion as compared to when I started. Once she seemed pleased with that, she checked out the functionality of my shoulder by asking me to do a variety of exercises that she said were similar to everyday tasks.

The only one that gave me trouble—which I tried my best to hide from her—was using a pair of resistance bands above my head. That motion brought back the same level of discomfort I felt when Slayton had my shoulder in a vice grip the day before.

Even though I managed to get through it, Jessica said, “You seemed to be struggling a little with that one, but that stiffness should improve if you’ll continue with your home exercise routine.”

“That’s good to know.”

Moments later, she signed off on my release, and I was done.

After I thanked her for her help, she handed me back my blue sling, along with a handful of papers. “You’re cleared to go back to work now, Mylas, although I’d take it easy if I were you. Going back to work after being shot, having surgery, and doing nothing for seven days might be a little difficult at first.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As I was walking out to the waiting room, I received a text from Detective Welch. “We’ve just returned from Petersburg. I’m sure you’ll want to hear what we have to tell you.”

I texted her back. “I’m on my way.”

“I’ll let the front desk know you’re coming.”

As I was checking out, Leslie walked up to the reception counter. “That was pretty quick. Are you done now?”

I smiled. “Yes, my therapist said I could go back to work now.”

* * * * * *

I told Leslie about the text Sarah Welch sent me as soon as we got in her car, and as we headed over to police division headquarters off of Maryland Avenue north of the Capitol, she agreed it sounded like Hernandez had told them something significant.

Since it was mid-morning, traffic was fairly light, so it only took us about twenty minutes to get there. However, it took us another ten minutes to park and go through the metal detectors, especially since Leslie and I had to show the security guard our PI licenses and gun permits.

Once we entered the lobby, I gave Detective Welch’s name to the officer at the reception desk, and after he verified that I was expected, he had us take a seat in the waiting area.

The detective arrived a few minutes later, and once I introduced her to Leslie, she motioned us toward the elevators.

There were several other people on the elevator, so we didn’t say anything to each other until we got off on the third floor, and Sarah pointed down a short hallway to her left.

“We’re meeting down here in a conference room. Detective Yeary has everything set up for us in there.”

As we were walking toward the room, I said, “I’m guessing you were able to have a successful conversation with Raul this morning.”

She smiled as she opened the door. “He sang like a bird.”

Yeary was equally upbeat when I introduced him to Leslie, and then once the four of us were seated around the table, Sarah motioned toward a television screen mounted on the wall at the end of the table.

“Before Detective Yeary starts showing you the video from our interview, I’ll summarize the beginning of our session with Raul, so we can skip that part and get to the main event.”

I nodded. “I’m all for that.”

“The only thing Raul had been told before the guard brought him into the interview room was that a couple of DC police detectives were at the prison to ask him some questions. From what Raul said when he first sat down, it was obvious he thought we were there to question him about his burglary charge.”

Sarah went on to describe how alarmed he appeared to be when she told him they’d found a video of him driving away from the Red Shield Academy at approximately the same time that Cassandra Simmons was last seen at the school on January 11.

Yeary spoke up. “When I told him that, his reaction was almost comical. He jerked back in his chair, nearly fell out of his seat, and then immediately began denying he had anything to do with what happened to Cassandra.”

Sarah said, “Naturally, we asked him what happened to her, and then after he stuttered and stammered around for a few seconds, he went into negotiating mode, quizzing us about what kind of deal we would make with him if he told us.”

Once Sarah explained they couldn’t offer him a formal deal without involving a prosecutor, she assured him that if the information he gave them helped them solve their case, they would inform the prosecutor of his cooperation and ask for a reduced sentence.

“There was a brief moment after we told him his rights that we thought he might ask for a lawyer,” Sarah said, “but after he considered it, he agreed to tell us what he knew about Cassandra.”

Sarah nodded at Yeary, who had a laptop in front of him, and once he clicked on a few keys, he gestured toward the television screen and said, “So here’s what he told us.”

When the image came up on the screen, I could see a windowless room with a single metal table in the middle, and seated on one side—with his hands cuffed to a metal ring on the table—was Raul Hernandez. He didn’t look much different than when I’d seen him in the gas station video, except his dark beard needed trimming.

On the other side of the table were the two detectives.

Hernandez leaned forward slightly and said, “It’s because of what happened to that girl that I decided to check out the rich guy’s house. I wanted to steal a few pieces of jewelry, so I’d have enough money to get away from Frosty and leave Washington. I knew I was taking a chance, but that’s how desperate I was.”

Yeary asked, “Why were you so desperate to get away from him?”

“Since I knew what he’d done to her, I was afraid he might kill me. I figured I knew too much.”

Sarah motioned at Hernandez. “So if we’re gonna have any chance of convincing the prosecutor to reduce your sentence, you’ll need to tell us everything that happened to Cassandra at the school that day. We’re gonna need every last detail.”

He nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

Hernandez began by telling the detectives that he’d driven Fasano over to the Red Shield Academy to have meetings with the director several times before, and when they got there around four o’clock on January 11, he wasn’t expecting this time to be any different.

“When Frosty and Tyrone got out of the car, he told me he thought the meeting should take about an hour, so I did what I usually did, and I stayed in the car and listened to a talk show on the radio.”

“So Frosty’s bodyguard, Tyrone, went inside the building with him?” Sarah asked.

“That’s right. That’s what he always did. Frosty doesn’t go anywhere without a bodyguard.”

“Okay, so we understand you were out in the car by yourself listening to the radio for an hour. Tell us what happened next.”

“No, I wasn’t out there for a whole hour. I was only out there for maybe forty minutes when I saw Tyrone come rushing out of the building carrying this woman in his arms. She was completely limp, like a ragdoll, and he was yelling at me to open up the trunk. When I did, he just threw her in there, and then he came around and got in the front passenger seat.

“I was yelling at him, asking him who the woman was, and what had happened inside, and he finally told me that Frosty and Riley, the school’s director, had gotten in an argument when Riley told him the feds were investigating how the school was using their grant money.

“I asked Tyrone why that was such a big deal to Frosty, and he said he was afraid their investigation would show he was falsifying invoices from Frosty’s janitorial supply company, and the feds might also uncover a bunch of other stuff Riley was doing for Frosty’s partner, a guy named Luis Garza.”

At this point, Sarah stopped Hernandez and asked him what he knew about Luis Garza, and he told her that he just knew Garza managed some of Fasano’s businesses, but after he hesitated for a few seconds, he finally admitted he’d also heard he was involved in pushing drugs.

Sarah nodded. “Okay, Raul, you can go ahead and finish your story now. I’m sure you know we’re anxious to hear if this woman Tyrone brought out to the car was Cassandra Simmons.”

“I promise you. I’m getting to that.”

Chapter 20

In the prison video, Detective Welch got very stern with Hernandez when she reminded him that the only way she’d be able to convince a prosecutor to give him a reduced sentence would be if he provided them with enough information to solve their case.

Her harsh tone must have worked, because he immediately nodded and assured her he had that information.

“So like I was saying,” Hernandez continued, “Tyrone told me that Riley and Frosty were shouting at each other about the feds investigating the school, and then Frosty finally had enough and told Riley to find a way to stop the investigation or he’d regret it. When Riley started arguing with him again, Frosty immediately turned around and told Tyrone they were leaving, and when he opened the door, they saw this woman sitting out in the waiting room. When Frosty asked her how long she’d been sitting there, Tyrone said she started acting all scared and nervous about it, and then when she got up and started to leave, Frosty grabbed her around the neck.

“Tyrone said he guessed Frosty must have squeezed her neck too hard, because she immediately collapsed on the floor. When Frosty realized she was dead, he ordered Tyrone to take her body out to the car, but then Riley screamed at Frosty that he needed to wait until he had turned off the security cameras. Tyrone told me as soon as the cameras were turned off, he picked up her body, and then when he started to grab her purse, and some papers she had with her, Frosty told him not to worry about those, that Riley would take care of them.”

At this point in the video, Hernandez stopped talking for a second and asked if he could have some water, and when that happened, Sarah motioned for Yeary to stop the video.

Sarah turned to Leslie and me and said, “It took a few minutes for us to talk the guard into getting Raul some water, and once we did, and we started the interview again, I began by asking him how long Frosty had stayed inside the building with Riley before he came out to the car.”

Just before Yeary touched his keyboard, he said, “Yeah, you’ll see I’ve skipped ahead on the timeline a little, but that’s just because the video kept running while we were getting him some water. I’m gonna start it right after she asked him that question.”

When he started the video, Hernandez said, “Frosty didn’t stay in the building that long. It was probably only fifteen minutes, and when he came out and got in the car, he told me not to leave until we saw Riley go out to the parking lot and get in his car. While we were waiting, Frosty asked me if Tyrone had told me what happened, and when I told him yes, he said something like, ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut about this. Always remember—accidents can happen to you too.’

“I told him I understood, and once we saw Riley get in his car, Frosty had me follow him out of the parking lot. After we went a couple of blocks, he told me to drive over to the Riverbend Community Church construction site so we could get rid of the body. When we got there, he had Tyrone and me bury the woman’s body in one of the trenches they’d recently dug for some of the underground utility pipes. It took us a while to open up the trench, put her body in there, and cover it back up again, and the whole time I was thinking Frosty was about to take out his gun, shoot us, and bury us both in there with her.”

Yeary stopped Hernandez and asked him, “Is that when you decided you were gonna leave town?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t about to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, always wondering if Frosty was about to shoot me in the back of the head. Then, the next morning, I really got scared when the dead woman’s face was all over the news. That’s when I found out her name was Cassandra Simmons. I knew I had to leave then.”

Sarah asked, “Is that when you decided to commit the burglary so you could get out of Washington?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t wanna just get out of Washington. I was planning to go back to El Paso, and from there, I figured I could disappear into Mexico. I still have plenty of relatives down there.”

“You must have known that if you left Washington, you’d be violating the terms of your parole.”

“I wasn’t worried about that. I was just concerned about staying alive.”

Yeary asked, “What about after you arrived here at Petersburg? Have you been afraid your life’s been in danger here?”

He shook his head. “No, since I was in before, I know how the system works, so I’m hanging out with some guys I know, and we’re watching each other’s backs. As long as I’ve got some cred with them, I’m good.”

After Raul said that was all he knew about Cassandra, Sarah had Yeary freeze the video while she asked us, “Is there anything you want to see again?” When we both told her no, she had Yeary stop the video.

“So there you have it,” Sarah said. “According to Raul, Cassandra Simmons is dead, and it was Frosty Fasano who killed her. Naturally, we’ll be taking this confession to the federal prosecutor to make sure we have a legal basis for seeking a search warrant so we can recover her body and arrest Frosty and Tyrone.”

“What about Riley Pogue?” I asked.

“He’ll face his own charges,” Yeary said. “At the very least, he’ll be charged with obstruction of justice, and since Frosty ordered him to get rid of whatever Cassandra had with her that day, I suspect he’ll also be dealing with an evidence tampering charge.”

“I’m guessing Frosty told Pogue to get rid of Cassandra’s purse and whatever she had with her so he would be involved in her murder.”

Sarah nodded. “I agree with that, although it sounds like Director Pogue will have other legal troubles since he’s obviously been defrauding the federal government, as well as a bunch of other felonies.”

I said, “Just so you’ll know, I’m not comfortable telling Kathleen Simmons about any of this until you’ve recovered Cassandra’s body, so I probably won’t be contacting her until after you do that.”

“That’s probably for the best. And by the way, Mylas, I appreciate your transparency with us while we’ve been working this case. That doesn’t always happen with other private investigators we work with on our cases.”

I smiled. “Well, thanks. Actually, that brings me to something I need to tell you. Yesterday, when I was alone in a physical therapy room at the rehab center, there was a guy—I believe it was Tyrone Slayton, although I didn’t see his face—who came to see me. He was only in there for a minute, but it was enough time for him to tell me I’d regret it if I didn’t keep my nose out of Frosty’s business.”

The two detectives were quiet for a few seconds.

It was Yeary who spoke first. “You had your appointment with Riley Pogue on Wednesday morning, didn’t you?” When I nodded, he said, “It sounds like he told Frosty about your visit to the Red Shield Academy, and Frosty got anxious.”

“That’s my theory too, and my surveillance guy also let me know Pogue’s car was at Liberty Landworks on Wednesday afternoon.”

Leslie said, “What Mylas didn’t tell you about his encounter at the rehab center was that the guy put some muscle behind his threatening message and applied it to Mylas’s injured shoulder.”

Sarah looked over at me. “Are you okay? I noticed you’re not wearing your sling anymore.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. He hurt me, but he didn’t do any damage. I even got my release papers today.”

“Well, congratulations. While it doesn’t surprise me Riley let Frosty know you were asking questions, I consider it a bad sign he decided to threaten you. In fact, it makes me more than a little concerned about our visit out to Petersburg today. Our questioning Raul could get back to him, and he might decide to make good on his threat.”

Leslie asked, “You don’t think Raul would tell Frosty you came to see him, do you? That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, I can’t imagine he’d do that. That would defeat his purpose for telling us in the first place. More than likely, one of the trustees—or possibly one of the guards—will tell an inmate they saw us talking to Raul, and he’ll let Frosty know. Of course, whoever the snitch is, I’m sure they’ll be well compensated for their information.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Frosty may decide to come after me and if that happens, I’ll just have to deal with it. But in the meantime, if you want me to put you in touch with someone on Capitol Hill who’ll be very interested in Raul’s testimony about how Pogue was defrauding the government, I’ll be glad to do that.”

After Sarah asked me to send her that information in an email, she promised to let me know when the arrest warrants were issued, and once we told Detective Yeary goodbye, she accompanied Leslie and me back down to the reception area.

The moment we got off the elevator, she turned to me and said, “Be sure and tell Lenny Dilbeck he made the right decision when he let you know what he overheard Raul telling the other inmate in the library that day. His information will change a lot of lives.”

“Yeah, some are gonna change for good and some for bad.”

“I hope yours won’t change for bad, Mylas.”

I looked over at Leslie. “Even if it does, it’ll still be good.”

* * * * * *

On our way over to the Greystone Center, Leslie and I discussed the interview the detectives had with Raul Hernandez, especially as it related to what Cassandra could have overheard as she was sitting in Pogue’s outer office that day.

“Personally, I believe she must have heard a lot,” I said, “because when Kyle and I were there at the school for our appointment, and Ms. Bailey went in to speak with Pogue privately in his office, they weren’t raising their voices, but I was still able to hear most of their conversation. I can just imagine how much Cassandra must have heard if Pogue and Fasano were yelling at each other.”

“I wonder why she didn’t just get up and leave?”

“We’ll never know for sure, but Pogue told us he had a conversation with her the day before about the congressional committee doing an audit of the grant money, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she wanted to confront him about lying to her after hearing them arguing about it. Or maybe she was just determined to stick around so she could present the director with her proposal.”

I heard Leslie take a deep breath, and when I looked over at her, she was shaking her head. “It’s just such a tragedy. She had her whole life in front of her, and suddenly, it was snuffed out in a matter of seconds. And for what reason?”

“I believe it was pure greed. I suspect both Pogue and Fasano were afraid their lucrative arrangement was in jeopardy.”

“It sounds that way, but thankfully, their perfect world is about to come crashing down on them.”

“The same goes for Luis Garza and his drug business, which I believe is where Pogue was getting a lot of his extra income.”

“So when do you think—”

As Leslie started to ask her question, my phone started vibrating, and when I looked down at the screen, I saw it was Reed.

“I think I better get this,” I said. “It’s Chase, and he’s still running surveillance on Fasano and Pogue.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

When I answered, Reed immediately asked where I was, and when I said I was on my way to the Greystone Center with Leslie, he said, “Okay, that’s good. You asked me to let you know if we saw anything unusual happening at Fasano’s office, and about an hour ago, a green Chevy Tahoe pulled in the parking lot at Liberty Landworks. You said it was a green Chevy Tahoe that followed you from your office the other day, right?”

“That’s right. Did you see who was driving it?”

“Oh, yeah, we even got some video. I’ll send it to you when I hang up. I’ve already sent it to Nina, and she’s trying to identify the vehicle and the driver.”

“Is the Tahoe still there?”

“No, it just left before I called you. In fact, that’s the reason I’m calling you. I wanted to let you know I’d seen a green Chevy Tahoe, so you could be on the lookout for it.”

“Thanks, Chase. I appreciate it. I’ll keep my eye out for it when Joe comes to pick me up this afternoon.”

Even though I knew there was zero chance the Tahoe could be following us now, I instinctively checked my side-view mirror before I told Leslie why Reed had called me.

Seconds later, I got the video he sent me of the green Chevy Tahoe parked in front of Liberty Landworks. Although I could easily make out the driver’s features as he got out of the vehicle—Caucasian male, shaved head, slender build—I didn’t recognize him.

If nothing else, I figured Nina could run the tags and see who owned the vehicle, so I got her on the phone.

“I already know why you’re calling me. You’ve been talking to Chase, haven’t you?” When I told her yes, she said, “I’ve been able to find out a couple things about the Tahoe. You wanna hear them?”

“You know I do. I’ve already seen the video, but I don’t recognize the driver.”

“Then I guess the name Duane Vogel won’t mean anything to you. That’s the name on the Tahoe’s registration.”

“No, I’ve never heard of him. Were you able to find out if he’s employed at Liberty Landworks?”

“He’s definitely not on their payroll. He works for ToughKleen Solutions. His boss is Luis Garza.”

“So I wonder if that means someone at Petersburg Federal Prison got in touch with Garza already, and this Vogel guy was sent over to let Fasano know a couple of DC Police detectives have been talking to Hernandez.”

“What did Hernandez tell them?”

I briefly went over the interview the detectives had with Hernandez, and just as I finished, Leslie turned off Memorial Road and onto 15th Street.

“We’re almost to the Greystone Center, Nina, so I’ll come by your office and finish our conversation in a few minutes. I also need to talk to Kyle. Do you know if he’s around?”

“No, I haven’t seen him all morning.”

“He and Buzz went over to Piney Woods Park to practice with the drone, but I thought they’d be back by now. I’ll give him a call when I get there and see where he is.”

By the time I hung up, Leslie had pulled into a parking space behind our building, and when she turned off the ignition, she motioned toward the street where we could see Ford’s dark blue Jeep Cherokee entering the parking lot.

“There’s Kyle now,” she said, “and it looks like Buzz is with him.”

I couldn’t detect any animosity in her voice when she said Ford’s name, which I took as a good sign she’d gotten over her anger with him. If that were true, then I figured there was a good chance an apology from him might smooth things over, so I decided to see if I could give Leslie and Ford a moment alone while I talked to Buzz.

When Ford parked his Cherokee two spaces away from Leslie’s SUV, I gave him a wave, and I was happy to see Leslie did the same.

Then, as he got out of his vehicle, and started walking toward Leslie and me, I said, “Hi, Kyle, I need to update you on some things in a few minutes, but I wanna ask Buzz a question first.”

I was pretty sure he knew what I was doing, because after he smiled at me, he immediately walked over and greeted Leslie while I went around the back of his vehicle and said hi to Buzz.

“How did things go with you and Kyle today?” I asked as Buzz reached in the backseat and pulled out a blue canvas bag with the surveillance drone in it. “Did he enjoy using the drone?”

He lowered his voice a little. “To be truthful, he had a little trouble with the technical stuff, but he was pretty excited when I showed him how useful it could be whenever we have a difficult surveillance job.”

To give Leslie and Ford some time together, I began telling Buzz about my first experience at seeing what the drone could do, and as I was talking to him, I glanced over his head toward 15th Street.

A green Chevy Tahoe was driving by.

I paused in midsentence when I realized it had stopped in the middle of the road. By the time it registered with me that the driver had his window down and was pointing a gun in our direction, I heard the distinct sound of the weapon being fired.

Two shots rang out.

Pop! Pop!

Seconds later, the Tahoe revved his engine and sped away.

Suddenly, everything appeared to be taking place in slow motion, as I watched Buzz let go of the canvas bag, clutch his chest, and crumple to the ground in a pool of blood.

Although I don’t remember how I got there, I was down on the ground beside him.

Chapter 21

I knew the shooter hadn’t hit me—I was familiar with what that felt like—but when Ford and Leslie came running over to the other side of Ford’s SUV where I was kneeling down beside Buzz, they assumed the blood I had on my hands was my own.

“No, I’m fine. Buzz took the hit,” I said, quickly taking off my jacket and pressing it against the gaping hole in his chest.

Leslie immediately got on her phone to call an ambulance, and moments later, I looked up to see Ford sweeping the perimeter with his gun.

I shouted at him, “The shooter went north. He was driving a green Chevy Tahoe.”

While I was speaking, Leslie rushed over to where I was kneeling beside Buzz and placed her big cowhide jacket over his body. “The police and ambulance are on their way,” she said softly.

Ford headed toward his car. “I’m going after him.”

“Then I’m going with you,” I said. I looked over at Leslie, “Will you be okay here?”

Although she looked distressed, she nodded and said, “Yes, go ahead. I’ll stay here with Buzz.”

I took one final look at Buzz—who was covered in blood, and who appeared to be having trouble breathing—and then I rushed over and got in the passenger seat of Ford’s Cherokee.

As he sped out of the parking lot onto 15th Street, he asked, “Did you recognize the shooter?”

“No, but I know who he is.”

By the time I finished telling him that Nina had identified the owner of the Tahoe as Duane Vogel, I could hear sirens in the distance, and as we passed the intersection of 15th Street and Foster Road, I saw an ambulance, a fire truck, and several police cars turning south on 15th from Foster Road, presumably heading toward the Greystone Center.

Several police cars with their sirens blaring were also coming toward us on 15th, which caused the vehicles in front of us to pull over.

As I scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of the Tahoe, I spotted a couple of cars who weren’t pulling over. Instead they were turning into the parking lot of a warehouse retail store.

One of those vehicles was a green Chevy Tahoe.

“Do you see the Tahoe?” I asked, pointing up ahead. “He’s just pulled into the SuperSaver Depot.”

“Got him,” Ford said, as we followed the Tahoe into the parking lot of the sprawling warehouse store.

Since the parking lot at the SuperSaver was packed with cars, along with customers pushing overflowing shopping carts to their vehicles, Vogel was driving very slowly. Eventually, though, I figured he would make his way over to an exit on the other side of the parking lot, so I immediately got on my phone and called Leslie.

She sounded a little breathless when she answered, and after she told me the ambulance had just left with Buzz, I described where we were, and I asked her to let the cops know we had the Tahoe in our sights, and it looked like he was about to get on Foster Road.

However, a few seconds after I hung up, when we were only a couple of car lengths behind him, Vogel made a sharp left turn onto a road that went behind the warehouse.

“He may have figured out we’re tailing him,” Ford said. “I think he’s trying to lose us.”

“Or maybe he’s just trying to find a place to hide his vehicle until the cops leave the area.”

Since we had to wait while two pedestrians cleared the crosswalk, it was a few seconds before we could turn onto the road and follow Vogel behind the building.

When we did, there was no sign of the Tahoe.

Although there were a few cars in the area behind the building, we discovered mostly semi-trailer trucks were parked back there, with four of them backed up to the loading docks.

“So where’d he go?” Ford asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Once we drove by the loading docks, we passed several yellow dumpsters, and then on the other side of them were three large garage-like bays for the SuperSaver Depot’s tire installation business.

Each bay had a roll-up door, and as the door slowly descending on the last one, I spotted the Tahoe inside.

“Uh-oh. He’s pulled his car inside the service area.”

“That’s not good. We know he’s armed, so we can’t let him enter the store and endanger the people inside.”

Ford quickly parked the Cherokee, and then we both ran toward the building, removing our weapons, and keeping them in the low ready position as we entered the side door next to the last bay.

There was no one at the counter in the small reception area, and when we carefully peeked through the blinds covering the glass windows and looked into the service area, we couldn’t see anyone inside the Tahoe either.

Down at the far end of the shop, two men were busy installing tires on a pickup in the last bay, but neither one of them seemed to notice Ford and me when we quietly slipped through the connecting door.

Ford covered me as I walked up to the Tahoe and looked inside.

There was no sign of Duane Vogel.

And no sign of a gun.

As Ford and I looked around the service area, we both noticed an opening behind a stack of tires, and we immediately headed over there. Ford went through the door first, and when I followed, we found ourselves in the storeroom portion of the warehouse, where there were stacks of pallets in neat rows containing everything from canned goods to electronics.

About halfway down, we could see two employees in red vests working with a forklift, but neither one of them resembled the man I’d seen in the video of Duane Vogel.

However, seconds later, as we came around a corner, I saw him.

His back was to us, and he was looking through the glass portion of the employee breakroom door, where I was able to see a snack vending machine, along with a bunch of large hooks mounted on the wall with red vests hanging on them.

I wondered if he was thinking about putting on one of the red vests and sticking around the breakroom until the police left the area.

However, since he was holding his gun at his side, I couldn’t be sure exactly what his intentions were.

I used hand signals to let Ford know I was going to confront Vogel, and he indicated he would slip in behind him.

Seconds later, as Ford moved off to his right, and I began moving toward Vogel, he must have sensed my presence, because he whirled around and leveled his pistol at me.

I pointed my gun at him and said, “Drop your weapon, Duane.”

He looked puzzled for a moment—probably asking himself how I knew his name—but then he recovered and said, “Not a chance.”

For a split second, I thought I was about to be on the receiving end of a bullet for a second time, but then Ford stepped out of the shadows and said, “Don’t do it, or I’ll put a bullet in your back.”

Vogel froze, his eyes darting nervously back and forth.

This time when I said, “Put your weapon on the ground,” he bent down and laid it on the floor.

“Back away, turn around, and put your hands on the wall,” Ford said, using his authoritative, police-sounding voice.

When Vogel complied, I kicked his weapon away from him, and then I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and punched in Leslie’s number.

I asked her to put one of the officers on the line, and after I told him where I was and what had happened, he assured me several of his men would be at the warehouse momentarily.

When I hung up, Vogel said, “I haven’t done anything wrong. I want my lawyer.”

“Your lawyer’s gonna have a hard time convincing a jury you didn’t just shoot a man in cold blood when they hear the forensics report on the gun you were pointing at me.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I figured you knew who I was. I’m Mylas Grey. You followed me the other day when I was leaving my office, and I’m guessing your boss, Luis Garza, ordered you to get rid of me today.”

“I don’t know anyone named Luis Garza.”

At that moment, we heard police sirens coming from the back of the warehouse, and seconds later, six policemen with their guns drawn came around the corner.

Ford and I immediately surrendered our weapons, but after one of the officers recognized Ford, he returned our guns to us.

Once they took Vogel into custody and bagged his weapon, the officer in charge asked us several questions, and then we were allowed to leave.

The moment we got inside Ford’s vehicle, I called Leslie again.

“The police have the shooter in custody, and we’re heading back to the Greystone Center,” I said. “What’s happening there?”

“The ambulance transported Buzz to University Hospital, and I’m on my way there now. I told Nina to call his wife, while I got in touch with Chase.”

“Okay, we’ll meet you at the hospital in a few minutes.”

When I hung up, Ford asked me. “What kind of shape was Buzz in when we left?”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t good.”

* * * * * *

The ER waiting room at University Hospital was fairly crowded when Ford and I got there, but Leslie saw us come in and waved us over to where she was sitting in a corner all by herself.

I’d never seen her look so disheveled and upset.

Ford put his hand lightly on her shoulder and asked, “How are you holding up?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

“Could I get you some water or a soft drink?”

“Some water would be good.”

He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

When Ford left, I asked, “What about Patty? Is she here yet?”

Patty was Buzz’s wife, and since I’d only met her once when she visited our offices to bring Buzz something, I didn’t know her that well, although I knew they had two elementary-age kids.

“She got here at the same time as I did, and they let her go back to the trauma room with him.”

I looked over at the ER’s reception desk. “I’ll see if I can go check on him, or at least speak to Patty.”

When I gave the woman at the desk my name and told her I was a close personal friend of Buzz Avery, and I’d like to go back to the ER so I could be with his wife, she looked over at her computer, and then she said, “Okay, one moment.”

She picked up what appeared to be a cell phone—except it was slightly larger and had a heavy-duty cover on it—and after punching in some numbers, she pointed toward some double doors to her right. “If you’ll wait over there a couple of minutes, a nurse will come and take you back to Trauma Room 2.”

True to her word, a nurse arrived in a couple of minutes and motioned for me to follow her back through a maze of corridors until we arrived at Trauma Room 2—or rather she had me stand outside the room, while she went inside.

Moments later, she returned with Patty, who immediately rushed to my side and embraced me—much to my surprise.

Although I felt awkward hugging her—I was not a touchy-feely kind of person—I did my best to comfort her, and when she drew back, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she was holding, I suddenly realized Buzz might have succumbed to his wounds.

“Patty, I’m so sorry about Buzz,” I said. “If it’s any consolation, the shooter’s already been apprehended.”

She nodded. “That’s good.” She motioned toward the trauma room. “I’m sure Buzz will be glad to hear it. You can go in and tell him, but the ER doctor said they’re about to take him upstairs to surgery.”

“Oh . . . good . . . he’s . . . uh . . . Yes, I’d like to go in and see him.”

When we entered the room, I suddenly had a flashback to waking up in the recovery room after my surgery—same bright lights, same antiseptic smell, same humming machines.

I immediately felt guilty for being thankful I wasn’t lying there.

A green blanket covered Buzz’s lower torso, while his upper body was mostly exposed, except for a large swath of white gauze over where the bullet had entered his chest, or perhaps more accurately, his upper abdomen.

His arms were motionless at his side—with IV lines attached to both of them—and since his eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving, I stared at him for a few seconds to make sure he was still breathing.

“Hey, Buzz,” Patty said, walking over to the side of the bed and putting her hand on his forehead, “Mylas is here to check on you.”

His eyes fluttered briefly, and it looked like he was trying to smile, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m so sorry you got shot, Buzz,” I said, squeezing his hand. “I’m pretty sure that bullet was intended for me, so I’m gonna owe you big time, but at least I can assure you the shooter’s already in custody.”

He managed to squeeze my hand a little, and then the door to the trauma room opened, and several medical personnel walked in.

A blonde-haired guy—about my age and wearing blue scrubs—was the first one through the door.

When he walked over and stood at the foot of the bed, he said, “Mr. Avery, I’m Dr. Metcalf, and I’ll be doing your surgery today. You’re very fortunate the bullet didn’t hit any major organs, but we still need to repair the damage to prevent any further complications. I anticipate the surgery will take at least a couple of hours, and after that, you’ll be in the ICU for a day or so.”

Buzz managed to open his eyes briefly, but by then, the doctor had turned to Patty and asked, “Do you have any questions for me?”

When she said, “No, I can’t think of any,” he looked over at me.

The moment I shook my head, he nodded and said, “Then I’ll see you in the waiting room when the surgery’s over.”

He and his entourage left the room immediately after this brief exchange, and once they were gone, a nurse came in and gave us some instructions about where the surgical waiting room was located up on the second floor.

“They’ll be coming to get him any minute now,” she said, “so if you want to say anything to him, you probably should do it now.”

When the nurse left, Patty looked over at me with tears in her eyes.

I couldn’t remember a time when I felt so unsure of myself.

Should I leave her alone with Buzz, or should I stay by her side to comfort her? How should I comfort her?

All of a sudden, I thought of Whitney, and how often she’d comforted me at critical times in my life, and in that moment, I knew exactly what I should do.

I said, “If you don’t mind, Patty, I’d like to say a prayer for Buzz before he goes up to surgery.”

“Oh no, Mylas,” she said, with tears streaming down her face, “I don’t mind at all. Yes, please pray for him.”

I took hold of Buzz’s hand again, and then I did something I’d never done in front of anyone but Whitney before, and I bowed my head and said a prayer out loud.

“God, you already know what we want to happen. We want Buzz to come through this surgery without any complications, and for him to get well soon without having any pain. But we can’t make that happen. Only you can do that. You’re sovereign over all things, so just like Jesus taught us in the Bible, I’m asking that your will be done, and if it’s your will, please let it happen like we want it to happen. As your follower, I’m asking this prayer in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

When I finished, Buzz squeezed my hand, and Patty looked up and said, “That was beautiful, Mylas. Thank you.”

Although I knew my words couldn’t possibly be considered beautiful, I also knew the words didn’t matter to God.

I’d told him what was on my heart.

That was all that mattered.

Chapter 22

Although it seemed like Buzz’s surgery took a long time, there was a lot going on during the almost three hours I spent in the surgical waiting room on the second floor.

As soon as Patty and I got up there, she started calling her family and friends to let them know about Buzz’s condition. In the meantime, I texted Ford and gave him my location so that he and Leslie could join us in the waiting room.

Ford texted me back that Reed had arrived at the hospital, and the three of them were on their way up to the second floor.

When Patty got off the phone a few minutes later, she told me several of her friends and relatives were also coming to the hospital to be with her. Thus, in less than an hour, there was a large group of us occupying more than a third of the space in the waiting room.

The waiting room attendant—an older woman in a white sweater sitting at a desk at one end of the room—was obviously used to having a bunch of people waiting for news about one patient, and she didn’t seem to mind as we moved chairs around and brought in snacks and drinks from the vending machine down the hall.

Even though Patty made a point to introduce us—Ford, Reed, Leslie, and myself—to her family and friends, the four of us eventually took seats at one end of the room, where I gave Reed more details about what had happened to Buzz.

Once I did that, I went out in the hallway—where it wasn’t as noisy—and let Greta know about Buzz’s condition.

As I was about to walk back in the room after I finished talking to her, I got a call from Detective Welch. “Hi, Mylas, this is Sarah Welch. We just heard about the shooting at the Greystone Center. Are you able to talk to me?”

Once I replied in the affirmative and explained where I was, she asked me how Buzz was doing.

“The surgeon sounded optimistic about his prognosis,” I said, “so I think he’s gonna be okay. Can I assume you know the shooter’s been arrested?”

“Yes, Detective Yeary and I were just informed about it. I understand you and Kyle followed him to a SuperSaver Depot on Foster Road, and Kyle called in his location when you confronted him. Are you aware the shooter’s been identified as Duane Vogel, and he works for Luis Garza at ToughKleen Solutions?”

“My research analyst gave me some information about Vogel shortly before he drove by the Greystone Center and shot Buzz.”

“Do you have any idea why he did that?”

“I believe he followed me the other day and saw me wearing my sling, so when he spotted Buzz carrying a blue canvas bag over his shoulder, he just assumed it was me and took the shot.”

“I’m so sorry, Mylas. Even though it’s being reported that this was a random drive-by shooting, I’m sure it’s directly related to our interview with Raul Hernandez today. Evidently, word got back to Fasano—or maybe someone informed Garza—that we were questioning Raul, and one of them decided to get rid of you.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Believe it or not, I do have some good news for you, though.”

“Since I’ve had enough bad news for today, I can’t wait to hear some good news.”

“Once you and Leslie left our office, Detective Yeary and I were able to speak to the U. S. Attorney’s office about the Hernandez interview, and a few minutes ago, we obtained arrest warrants for Frosty Fasano, Tyrone Slayton, and Riley Pogue. We also got a warrant to search the grounds of the Riverbend Community Church in Oak Park.”

“That is good news. Would you mind telling me what the timing is on making the arrest and doing a search of the construction site?”

“It’s happening pretty fast. Since we know the suspects might flee if they hear the site’s being excavated, we’ve arranged for their arrest warrants to be served simultaneously with the arrival of our officers at the construction site. In fact, Detective Yeary and I are on our way over to the site right now.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d call me as soon as you know something. I told Kathleen I’d keep her updated about any progress that’s been made in the investigation, so I’ll need to get in touch with her.”

“I forgot to mention I spoke to Kathleen this morning and told her that we were following up on a lead, although I didn’t tell her what it was. However, I promise I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as we find out anything.” She hesitated a moment. “Unfortunately, I’m expecting we’ll find exactly what Raul said we would find.”

“So am I, Detective. So am I.”

* * * * * *

At about the midpoint of Buzz’s surgery, the waiting room attendant asked to speak to Patty privately, and once Patty came back in the room and talked to her family, she walked over to where we were sitting and told us what was going on.

“The nurse said Buzz is doing fine, and the doctor expects him to be in the recovery room in about an hour.”

After we all voiced our relief at this news, she reached out and patted me on the shoulder. “Please keep praying, Mylas. I believe your prayers are definitely working.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

She spread her hands out toward everyone else. “And of course, I’d appreciate your prayers too.”

When Ford said, “You can count on them,” Leslie looked over at him and smiled, which surprised me a little.

A few minutes later, when Ford and Reed left to go get us some coffee, and Leslie and I were alone at our end of the waiting room, I asked her how she was doing. When she said she was doing better, I said, “I know it was hard on you seeing Buzz get shot, but I really believe he’ll pull through this okay.”

She nodded. “I think so too, and you’re right about it being hard on me, but it wasn’t because of seeing him in such bad shape. You know I’ve dealt with bloody corpses and mangled bodies before. It’s just that I was so . . .” She paused a moment, and then she said, “I guess it was hard on me because all week long I’ve been thinking about Cassandra’s life being cut short at such a young age, and then suddenly, I see Buzz lying on the ground with a bullet in him, and just seconds before, the two of you were talking to each other.”

“He was telling me about showing Kyle the drone.”

“Kyle mentioned that’s what they’d been doing.”

As I was about to respond, she motioned toward me and said, “By the way, Mylas, you’ll be interested to know Kyle said he was sorry if he had offended me the other night. He emphasized he wasn’t apologizing for his beliefs, but he said he realized when he was sharing his faith with me, he should have expressed it differently.”

“I’m glad he apologized. To be honest with you, I think Kyle and I have the opposite problem. Even though my faith is very meaningful to me too, I don’t share it with anyone that often.”

She smiled. “Well, believe me, between the two of you, I’ve gotten the message.” She looked down at her lap for a moment. “That was probably why I was so upset when I saw that Buzz had been shot. For the past several days, I feel like everywhere I turn someone’s constantly reminding me of the uncertainty of life. I’m sure when Cassandra woke up on January 11, it never occurred to her that by the end of the day her life would be over.”

“I hear you. In reality, none of us knows when we have lived our last day. It could be today, or it could be fifty years from now.”

“Am I right in thinking that doesn’t bother you?”

“Not in the least. I have peace about it because I believe Jesus sacrificed his life to make sure I’d spend my future with him.”

As Ford and Reed came back in the room with our coffees, she said, “I’ll say this; I’m giving my future a lot more thought these days than I ever have before.”

I had no idea if she was thinking romantically, spiritually, or some other way, but as I observed the way she and Ford were interacting with each other, I had a feeling it might end up being both.

* * * * * *

Moments after I finished drinking my coffee, I heard the attendant calling Patty’s name again, and when she and her sister came back in the waiting room, she walked over to where we were sitting.

“Everything went well,” Patty said. “Buzz is in recovery now, and I should be able to see him in about thirty minutes. Thank you all so much for sticking around. I really appreciate it.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on him,” I said, “but if you should need anything before then, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Thank you so much, Mylas. I promise I’ll do that.”

Reed said, “The same goes for me, Patty.” He grinned at her. “And you can tell Buzz I expect him to be back at work on Monday morning.”

She smiled—it was the first time I’d seen her smile all afternoon. “No, Chase, I’m not gonna do that. You know how competitive he is, so if I tell him that, he’ll take it as a challenge.”

As we were walking out of the hospital, Leslie asked if anyone wanted to go get something to eat, and after Ford responded by saying that sounded good to him, Reed said, “Thanks for the invitation, Leslie, but I need to get back to the Greystone Center so I can let my surveillance crew know about Buzz.”

I said, “You two go ahead, and I’ll ride back to the office with Chase. I need to update Nina and check on the situation there anyway.”

When Reed and I were driving out of the hospital’s parking lot, he glanced over at me and said, “I’m glad we have a moment to ourselves, Mylas. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened today. It was partly my fault, so I feel I need to apologize for that.”

“What are you talking about? How could it be your fault?”

He shrugged. “When the green Tahoe showed up at Liberty Landworks, and I saw the guy rushing out a few minutes later, I had a gut feeling about him. That’s why I made the video and contacted Nina, but now I’m wondering if I should have left Hank there to watch Fasano and followed the Tahoe to see what he was up to.”

“Even if you’d done that, I don’t see how that would have stopped Vogel from taking the shot at Buzz, or whoever he was shooting at.”

“You think he was shooting at you, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure when Vogel saw Buzz holding that blue bag with the drone in it, he thought it was me wearing my sling, and he took the shot without realizing what he was doing.”

“So you weren’t wearing your sling?”

“No, I had my last PT appointment today, and my therapist said I didn’t have to wear it anymore. When I confronted Vogel in the warehouse, he didn’t seem to have any idea who I was, which makes me think he never bothered studying my physical features when he tailed me the other day.”

“I still think I should have followed my instincts and gone after the guy. Several years ago, I ignored my instincts, and because of that, I lost a good friend, as well as a colleague, so I’m not sure I could have lived with myself if Buzz had died today.”

When I began working with Reed a few weeks ago, one of the first things I’d learned about him was that he wasn’t the kind of guy who said very much about his personal life.

When Leslie recommended I hire him—he’d worked with her at the Bowman Detective Agency where he’d been their surveillance chief—she told me he had owned his own detective agency in Houston before relocating to Washington and going into surveillance work.

Last week, when Reed was helping me with a case, I had a chance to ask him why he’d made the change.

However, all I could get out of him was that he'd made a mistake and someone had gotten killed, so he preferred to stick to surveillance work.

I didn’t push him to tell me the full story, although he’d hinted he might be willing to do that one day.

I wondered if he was ready to talk about it now.

“I don’t know, Chase. I’m not sure it would have made any difference even if you’d followed him. I think he had his orders to shoot me, and there wasn’t anything you could have done to stop him.”

“I might have been able to warn you, though. I always regretted not doing that for my colleague.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m curious if what happened to your colleague was the reason you shut down your PI business in Houston and went into surveillance work here in D. C.”

Although he kept his eyes glued on the road, he nodded and said, “Yeah, pretty much.” After a few seconds, he waved his hand. “I guess I might as well give you those details if you wanna hear them now.”

After I assured him I did, he said, “Ten years ago, I had a fairly successful detective agency in Houston with two other private investigators and a couple of surveillance guys. One day, the CEO of an aerospace manufacturing company in Houston hired my agency to investigate one of their engineers, someone he suspected of selling their proprietary plans for a new avionics system to a foreign aerospace competitor.”

“That sounds like an interesting case. I’ve never investigated anything like that before.”

“No, neither had I, and I might not have taken the case, but one of my investigators, Sam Schuler, was a techno nerd, so we decided that he’d go undercover as an IT consultant to see if he could gather evidence on the engineer. This was a perfect cover for Sam, plus it meant he had access to all the employees’ offices.”

Reed explained that after Sam had been there for a couple of weeks, he determined the engineer was definitely guilty, and he had the data to prove it. However, even though he’d found it, he didn’t want to meet with the CEO to turn over the data because he’d come across evidence the engineer was meeting up with his contact, and he wanted to get video evidence of that meeting.

“I was a little apprehensive about how Sam had found out about the meeting because it seemed just a little too convenient—he’d found a note lying on the guy’s desk with the time and place—but that was only my gut feeling, so I didn’t tell Sam that I thought it might be a set-up. However, I did insist on being his backup, so we arrived at the site in separate cars, and we stayed in contact on our cell phones.

“The engineer was meeting his contact at an outdoor restaurant, and Sam was parked across the street where he was planning to take a video of the two of them together. I was parked about half a block away where I had a good view of Sam’s vehicle and a partial view of some of the tables at the restaurant.”

At this point, Reed appeared to hesitate for a moment, which made me wonder if he was trying to remember what had happened.

But then, when he started talking again, I realized it might have been a long time since he’d told anyone this story, and it was painful for him to remember the details.

“Once the engineer and his contact were seated at a table, Sam started filming them, although he let me know he had to stop for a moment while the engineer went inside the restaurant, presumably to use the restroom. When he told me that, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, but before I could warn Sam that I thought he should leave, I saw a figure approach his vehicle from the back, stick a gun in his open window, and shoot him twice in the head.”

Reed took one hand off the wheel and rubbed his right eye a couple of times, and then he continued. “I immediately got out of my vehicle and started running toward his car, and at the same time, the customers at the restaurant, who’d heard the shots, were screaming and rushing out in the street, so the scene was very chaotic. In the middle of all of that, I lost sight of the shooter, although I was convinced it was the engineer who’d killed Sam.”

Reed stopped talking for a longer period this time, but then as we exited the freeway and came to a stoplight, he said, “Eventually, after I presented the CEO with the data Sam had collected, the engineer was arrested for selling proprietary information to a foreign government, although he was never charged with shooting Sam. The police never found any evidence tying him to the shooting, and to this day, it’s still an open case.”

He looked over at me and shrugged. “And that’s why I gave up my PI business and decided to stick to surveillance work.”

“So if I’m hearing you correctly, you blame yourself for your friend’s death because you failed to act on your instincts.”

“I’m not saying I had total responsibility. I know I didn’t pull the trigger, but I should have voiced my suspicions. Keeping quiet about them made me realize I wasn’t cut out to be in a leadership role.”

“In the case of spotting the green Tahoe at Fasano’s office today, the way I see it, you acted on your instincts, and that’s why you made the video of the driver. I’m not convinced if you’d gone after him, it would have prevented him from taking shots at me in the parking lot, so forget about apologizing. I won’t accept it.”

He gave me a weak smile. “Okay. Apology withdrawn.”

“Personally, I have a feeling you were a good PI.”

He nodded. “Yep, I was pretty good at it, but I’m content with doing surveillance work now.”

“Okay, but if I should need your help occasionally, you won’t be opposed to doing a little investigative work for me, will you?”

“I’ll need to think about it.”

“Sure, I get that, but—”

“Okay, I’ve thought about it.”

I smiled. “And?”

He gave me a thumbs up. “Yeah, you can ask me anytime.”

Chapter 23

It was four-thirty by the time we pulled in the employee parking lot at the Greystone Center, and since the shooting had taken place around noon, I wasn’t expecting to see much in the way of a police presence at the building.

While that was true—I only saw one black and white police vehicle sitting at the far end of the parking lot—there was a news van parked across the street from our building, and from what I could tell, a reporter was getting ready to do a live shot, which I figured would be showing up on the local five o’clock news very soon.

“Uh-oh,” I said to Reed, as he parked his SUV a few spaces away from where I could still see the bloodstains on the pavement where Buzz had fallen, “I think we’re about to be on the evening news.”

“It’s gonna be hard for that reporter to sound like it’s exciting news when she’s broadcasting from an almost empty parking lot.”

“Oh, I’m sure the cameraman will find a few things he can focus on.” I pointed to a long strip of yellow crime scene tape that remained on a lamppost. “But I can’t help but wonder how the reporter’s gonna feel tomorrow when she learns this drive-by shooting is related to the Cassandra Simmons’ case.”

When we got inside the building, Reed went on up to the second floor, while I stopped off at Greta’s office, where I had Kendall and Bonnie join me so I could give them an update on Buzz. As I was doing that, something about the reporter was nagging at me, and when I got on the elevator to go up to my office, I finally realized what it was.

Seeing the reporter had triggered my memory about an incident a few weeks ago when a national news story had put me in the spotlight, and my parents and Whitney saw it on their local broadcast before I could talk to them about it.

I didn’t think that would happen again with this story, but I couldn’t be sure about that, so I decided I better give Whitney a call before talking to Nina.

Whitney answered her phone immediately, but before I could say anything, she said, “I’m so sorry, Mylas; I can’t talk but a second. Jackson Becker is about to call me. He just sent me a text and said he needs to talk to me about when I’ll be able to come to work.”

When Whitney made the decision to move to Washington, we were both praying she’d be able to continue her career as a photographer, and although it shouldn’t have surprised me, I was still amazed to see how the Lord answered her prayer.

During her last visit to Washington, when she was trying to make a decision about purchasing a home here, I took her to dinner at a fancy restaurant where I knew she’d enjoy dining with members of Congress and well-known powerbrokers in Washington society.

As we were leaving the restaurant, we ran into Jackson Becker—the gregarious owner of JRB Associates, a prestigious public relations firm in Washington. I knew Becker from when I worked for Senator Davis Allen, and when I introduced Whitney to him, he wasn’t shy about asking her several personal questions.

The moment he learned Whitney was a photographer and was looking for work, he gave her his card and asked her to call him the next day.

As it turned out, his photographer at the public relations firm had resigned, and Becker was looking for a replacement.

Although Whitney was a children’s photographer, Becker convinced her she could handle his clientele’s photography needs, and after praying about it, she decided to accept his offer.

I admit I was a little apprehensive about her going to work in a fast-paced corporate office when she was used to running her own photography business in a small-town environment, but she seemed pretty excited about it.

I said, “Okay, Whitney, I won’t keep you then. I just wanted to alert you that Cassandra’s case might be on the news tomorrow.”

“Oh, I wish I had time to talk to you about it. Could you call me in the morning?”

“I’ll do that, and then you can tell me about your phone call with Jackson, and what you worked out with him.”

After we said our goodbyes, I walked down to Nina’s office, where I found her staring out her window. Since it overlooked the parking lot, I figured she was watching the reporter doing her news broadcast.

“Be careful, Nina, the cameraman might decide to zoom in on our building and capture your face for their broadcast.”

She turned around and shook her head. “If he does that, he’s gonna see an angry redhead staring back at him.”

“What are you angry about?”

She flipped her hand in the air. “I’m angry about Buzz being shot. I’m angry about Cassandra being murdered, and I’m angry about this.”

She picked up Disappearing into the Shadows—the same paperback I’d seen in Leslie’s office the day before—and shook it at me. “Why would any intelligent young lady decide to completely change her life after reading a fictitious story?”

I sat down in a chair across from her desk and said, “It sounds like Leslie briefed you on our new client.”

She nodded. “She asked me to do some research on Daniel Vassar’s daughter, but as soon as she told me Ellen Vassar was a legislative aide to Congressman Ryan Melton before she became disillusioned and resigned from her job, I remembered meeting her one day in Senator Allen’s office. I was really impressed by how well-informed she was about the issues the senator was discussing, so it’s beyond me why she would do something so irrational.”

“I suspect that’s because you look at facts and figures to get answers, and emotions aren’t part of your equation, but that’s not how everyone operates. Just look at why Cassandra was killed or Buzz got shot. You wouldn’t think a businessman like Frosty Fasano, or a school administrator like Riley Pogue, would let their emotions get the best of them, but they did.”

“You’re right, and I hope they’ll be arrested soon.”

“It won’t be long now.”

While I was telling her about my conversation with Detective Welch, my phone vibrated, and when I saw the caller ID, I said, “It’s Detective Welch. I’ll put her on speakerphone so you can listen.”

“Hi, Detective. This is Mylas.”

“Hi, Mylas. I’m calling to let you know our forensic specialists have located a female body here at the construction site, and the medical examiner has been able to give us a preliminary identification based on the physical characteristics and clothing. I’m sorry to say he’s identified the body as Cassandra Simmons.”

I sighed. “That’s tough to hear, but thank you for letting me know.”

“Her body will be transported to the medical examiner’s office for an autopsy, and a definitive identification will be made at that time. It may be a couple more hours before that happens, though. In the meantime, I thought you’d also like to know that Fasano, Pogue, and Slayton have all been arrested, and they’re on their way downtown for booking.”

“What about Luis Garza?”

“We’re anticipating that one of these men, or perhaps Duane Vogel, will give us the goods on him. Personally, I’ll be surprised if it takes much incentive for one, or maybe all of them, to start pointing fingers at Garza and his whole operation.”

“I assume you’ll be speaking to Kathleen Simmons when you get a positive identification from the medical examiner, but unless you have some objection, I’d like to go see Kathleen this evening and prepare her for what to expect.”

“Well . . . uh . . . no, I guess I don’t have any objection. She hired you as her private investigator, so you have some standing there, plus I doubt if we would have been able to find Cassandra without the information you shared with us. So, yeah, even though it’s not our normal protocol, I’m good with it.”

“Thanks, Detective. I’ll be in touch.”

When I hung up, Nina and I were both quiet for a moment.

Finally, she said, “This has been a rough day, Mylas.”

“Yeah, and it’s not over yet.”

* * * * * *

Despite the fact I was cleared to drive, I didn’t have my car at the Greystone Center, so I called Joe and asked him to bring me my Audi, and while I was waiting for him to arrive, I called an Uber to take Joe back home once he dropped my car off.

I wasn’t expecting his reaction when I met him in the parking lot and told him what I’d done.

“An Uber?”

“Yeah, it’s like a taxi, but I’ve already paid for it on my phone.”

He shook his head. “But I’ve never done that before.”

“You’ve never ridden in a taxi before?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t realize that, Joe, but it’ll be fine. You can just sit there, relax, and let someone drive you to your destination. You might enjoy it.”

“The last time I sat in the back seat of a car and someone was driving me to my destination, it was a police car, and I was under arrest.” He shook his head. “I didn’t enjoy it.”

“I promise you, this will be much different.”

“Okay, I trust you.”

“When you get home, go ahead and give Lenny a call and set up a time tomorrow when we can meet with him. By then, I should be able to tell him what happened with the information he gave me.”

“Yeah, he’s anxious to know if it helped someone or not.”

“Has he had any luck finding a job yet?”

“No, but I keep telling him, it only takes one person to say yes.”

Joe seemed a little less apprehensive when the Uber showed up. In fact, I thought he looked pretty content sitting in the back seat. This was confirmed when he gave me a short wave as they drove off.

On the other hand, I felt a little strange as I got behind the wheel of my vehicle after not driving for a week.

However, once I got on the freeway, all I could think about was what I was going to say to Kathleen.

By the time I pulled up in her driveway, though, my prayers were answered, and I knew exactly what I was going to tell her.

* * * * * *

Despite the fact I hadn’t called to let her know I was coming, Kathleen didn’t seem that surprised when she answered her doorbell.

“It’s nice to see you, Mylas. Come on in.” She gestured toward her couch. “Have a seat.”

“How are you, Kathleen?”

She nodded, as she sat down in her recliner. “I’m doing okay. It’s been two weeks since my last chemo treatment, so this is when I’m usually feeling pretty good.”

“You said you had one more treatment left. Will that be next week?”

“That’s right.”

“My colleague, Leslie Irving, and I would like to help you celebrate by taking you out for that steak dinner you were promised.”

She stared at me for several seconds. “Yes, I’d like that.” She took a deep breath. “I have a feeling you have some bad news to tell me. Go ahead, Mylas. I’ve been expecting it.”

“I’m sorry, Kathleen, but when the police interviewed the inmate at Petersburg, he confirmed the story I told you earlier, and this afternoon, they located Cassandra’s body. She was buried at a construction site in Oak Park where the Riverbend Community Church is building a new facility.”

Her hand flew up to her mouth. “They buried her body at a church?”

“Uh . . . that’s right. Of course, her body’s been removed and transported to the medical examiner’s office for positive identification. Once that happens, she can have a proper burial.”

She covered her face with her hands and wept softly while I sat there. It wasn’t that I couldn’t think of any words to say. I was afraid I might get emotional if I said them.

When she reached over and pulled a tissue from a box, she said, “Strangely enough, I find it comforting to know that’s where her body has been these past few weeks.”

I nodded. “I can understand why that would be comforting to you.”

She smiled. “But it’s much more comforting to know she’s in heaven, although I never imagined she’d be there before me.”

We shared an awkward silence for a few seconds, and then I said, “Later this evening, or perhaps tomorrow morning, you’ll be receiving formal notification from the DC Police about the discovery of Cassandra’s body, but it’s possible you’ll see something on the news this evening about the arrest of several people in connection with her death. Do you want me to tell you about how they’re connected to Cassandra?”

“Thank you for asking, Mylas. And yes, I’d like to know.”

I gave her a condensed version of the circumstances surrounding how Cassandra died, and when I finished, she said, “The only thing Cassandra ever said about Director Pogue was that she had difficulty communicating with him. Knowing Cassandra, I always wondered if that was because she was focused on trying to help her students, and she didn’t think the director was as concerned about them as she was.”

“After what I’ve learned about the director and speaking to him personally, I believe that’s possible. However, I don’t want Cassandra’s efforts at the Red Shield Academy to be forgotten, so with your permission, I’d like to look into funding a life-skills program at the school that would be named after Cassandra.”

She looked surprised. “Really? That would be wonderful, and of course, you have my permission. What kind of program would it be?”

“I’m not sure of the details just yet. I just thought of it when I was driving over here, but since Cassandra was so determined that these at-risk kids be given life-skills training, I’d like to honor her memory by making sure that happens.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mylas, and to be frank, it’s totally unexpected.” She smiled at me. “I have a feeling you do a lot of unexpected things.”

“No, not really. I’m a pretty predictable guy.”

Chapter 24

Saturday, January 29

When I woke up Saturday morning, I was a little surprised to find myself still thinking about my conversation with Kathleen, particularly what she said about me doing unexpected things.

I didn’t see myself as someone who did the unexpected.

But when I was driving home from Kathleen’s, and I gave my financial manager, Carter Whitehead, a call, he said something very similar when I asked him about funding a program at the Red Shield Academy in Cassandra’s name.

After he explained several options for setting things up, I said, “Thanks, Carter. I’ll need a few days to think about these options, but I’ll give you a call as soon as I’ve made my decision.”

“Sure, Mylas, just give me a call whenever you’re ready to move forward. I’m always glad to hear from you, although I admit I can never anticipate what you might be calling me about. Your creativity always keeps me guessing.”

Since I had never considered myself a creative thinker, it made me wonder if changing my profession from lawyer to investigator had also changed my personality.

When I went to my study to write up my notes on Cassandra’s case for our office files, I still had this topic on my mind, especially as I began describing Pogue’s relationship with Fasano. At that point, I paused and asked myself what could have caused his personality to change so drastically.

I was pretty sure Pogue never imagined when he was a special education teacher in Chicago, that he would get involved with a drug trafficker, compromise his integrity by taking bribes, and end up helping a murderer cover his tracks after killing a young woman.

What caused his moral compass to become so corrupted?

I didn’t have the answer, but it occurred to me that moving to the nation’s capital for his wife’s job and then finding himself hobnobbing with the rich and powerful might have played a role in it.

As I was thinking about Pogue moving to Washington, I suddenly remembered I’d texted Whitney last night and told her I’d call her at nine-thirty, and it was already ten minutes past that.

I quickly shut the lid on my computer and picked up my phone.

“Good-morning, Whitney. I’m sorry I’m calling you later than I said I would, but I was busy writing up my report on Cassandra’s case for our files, and I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

She laughed a little. “That’s not a problem. I know how focused you can get on one of your cases. So tell me what happened. I never did hear anything on the national news about it.”

“There were several arrests made last night, but I think they must have happened too late for the evening news.”

After I went over everything with her, she seemed to be the most disturbed by the shooting at the Greystone Center.

“It sounds like you came very close to being shot again, Mylas. That’s not something I wanted to hear.”

“I promise I’ll take better care of myself when you get here. Speaking of that, tell me about your conversation with Jackson Becker last night.”

“We had a good conversation. He talked to me about several projects that he has for me when I get there, and he also told me about some new things he’s working on for his PR business that he said will also be part of my responsibilities. It sounds like he’s planning on keeping me very busy, that’s for sure.”

“When did you tell him you’d be able to come to work?”

“I gave him February 21 as my start date. That’s three weeks from this Monday, and since I have the moving van coming on Wednesday, and I plan to be in Washington by Friday, I think that’s good timing.”

“I can hardly wait to see you, and I’m glad you’re giving yourself a couple of weeks to get moved in before you start your new job, especially since it sounds like Jackson has a bunch of projects waiting for you.”

“I just hope I can keep up with him. He told me he’s expanding JRB Associates to include social media management and website design, plus several other things for his clients. He even mentioned he’s getting into podcasting. He told me he’s committed to making JRB Associates the premier PR agency in D. C.”

I let out a short laugh. “I think most people already consider it the only game in town. I know Senator Allen does.”

“So let’s get back to how you almost got killed yesterday. Do you think you’re still in danger?”

“No, you don’t need to worry about that. Since the police have made these arrests, I don’t believe I’m in any danger. In about an hour, Joe and I will be meeting with Lenny Dilbeck. Since I promised to let him know how his information helped the police locate Cassandra, I feel I owe him that. Once I do that, I’m officially closing this case.”

“So you’re officially closing a case when the doctor told you to take seven days off from work. Do you see anything wrong with that statement?”

“No, not a thing.”

* * * * * *

After I got off the phone with Whitney, I sat at my desk for a few minutes and thought about Becker expanding his company. I was curious about something she said, so I opened up my laptop again and got on his website.

Once I took a look around and satisfied my curiosity, I looked up his number in my contacts and called him.

“Hi, Mylas.”

“Good morning, Jackson. I hope I’m not calling too early, but frankly, I don’t picture you as sleeping late on Saturday morning.”

He laughed. “You got that right. I’m up at the crack of dawn every morning, but it’s usually because I’ve got a client with a problem.”

“I’m not calling with a problem. I’m actually calling to see if you’d be interested in doing something that would enhance your profile in the community and expand your client base.”

“That sounds exactly like something I might say to one of my clients if I was trying to convince him to do something I was pretty sure he didn’t want to do in the first place.”

“You’re not wrong there, but I’m serious when I say I think it would be beneficial to you.”

“Okay, so give me your spiel.”

“Before I do that, I need to clarify something. On your website it says that your company participates in the ReStart Employment Initiative. Is that right?”

The ReStart Employment Initiative, or REI, was a community-based program focused on providing veterans, ex-offenders, and recovered substance abusers with meaningful employment. I became familiar with it when I was working in the McKinney Law Firm.

Becker said, “Uh . . . yeah. JRB Associates has been an REI member for many years. I was even on their board at one time.”

“Okay, so here’s my spiel. I just got off the phone with Whitney, and she told me that you’re expanding your PR services to include websites for your clients. It just so happens that I’ve been in contact with a young man who was recently released from Petersburg, and who was able to earn a college degree in graphic design while he was inside, so I’m hoping I can convince you to hire him through REI or at the very least give him an interview.”

“Uh . . . well . . . yes, I guess I could do that, but how exactly is that going to ‘expand my client base,’ as you put it?”

“The guy’s name is Lenny Dilbeck, so if you hire Lenny, and he does a great job for you, then I figure you can convince potential clients who work with non-profit organizations and advocacy groups that your PR firm would be a good fit for them by letting them know you have a marginalized individual working in your own agency.”

He chuckled. “Are you sure you didn’t work in PR in a different life?” He paused a second, and then he said, “Okay, you’ve convinced me. Have Lenny give me a call. I’m not promising anything, but at least, I’ll interview the guy.”

“Thanks, Jackson. I really do appreciate it.”

“No problem. I appreciate your introducing me to Whitney. I’m really looking forward to working with her.”

“She’s excited about it too, and I think she’ll do a great job for you. I could be prejudiced, but I’ve really been impressed by her work.”

“It impressed me too. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but am I correct in assuming the two of you are in a relationship?”

I paused a second before I answered. “Yes, that’s a correct assumption.”

“Okay, I was just checking.”

When I got off the phone with Becker, my emotions were all over the place. While I was excited I had some good news I could share with Lenny about the possibility of him getting a job at the PR agency, I was suddenly anxious about Whitney going to work for Jackson Becker.

I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was causing my anxiety.

Was it Becker’s interest in her relationship status?

Or was it her working at a PR agency whose clients were consumed with their own ambitions?

I looked down at Babe, who’d been sleeping at my feet, but who had suddenly raised his head as I was asking myself these questions.

Had he sensed my anxiety?

“So what do you think, Babe? Am I foolish to be worried about Whitney moving to Washington?”

He stood to his feet and barked at me. “Woof.”

“I agree. We’ll have to take care of her, won’t we?”

He tilted his head and looked at me.

“Or maybe we should depend on God to take care of her.”

“Woof. Woof.”

Never The End, Always A Beginning

* * * * * *

BONUS EXCERPT: You’ll find an excerpt from One Wonders, Book I in the Silas McKay Suspense Series, on the pages following the author’s bio.

A NOTE TO MY READERS

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading Seven Days Off, Book VII in the Mylas Grey Mystery Series. If you enjoyed it, you might also enjoy reading the prequel to the series, A Day Ago, as well as the other books in the series, One Day Gone, Two Days Taken, Three Days Clueless, Four Days Famous, Five Days Lost, and Six Days Spent. The next book in the Mylas Grey Mystery Series is Eight Days Anxious, Book VIII, due for release in Fall 2025.

I also write the Titus Ray Thriller Series, featuring CIA intelligence officer, Titus Ray. There are ten books in this series, plus three books in a spinoff series called the Ben Mitchell/Titus Ray Thriller Series. All books are available on Amazon here.

My suspense series is the Silas McKay Suspense Series, featuring Silas McKay, the head of operations for Discreet Corporate Security Services in Dallas, Texas. Books in this series include, One Wonders, Two Believe, Three Confess, and Four Doubt. You’ll find an excerpt from One Wonders, Book I in the Silas McKay Suspense Series, on the pages following my author bio.

Would you do me a favor and post a review of Seven Days Off on Amazon? Since word-of-mouth testimonies and written reviews are usually the deciding factor in helping a reader pick out a book, they are an author’s best friend and much appreciated!

Would you also consider signing up for my newsletter? When you sign up, you’ll be offered the opportunity to download One Step Back, the prequel to the Titus Ray Thriller series, for your Kindle device. You can sign up here.

One of my greatest blessings comes from receiving email from my readers. My email address is author@luanaehrlich.com. I’d love to hear from you!

Enjoy the excerpt from One Wonders, Book I in the Silas McKay Suspense Series, on the pages following my short bio.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Although many people have given me support and encouragement in the process of writing Seven Days Off, first and foremost, I wish to thank my husband, James, and my daughter, Karis, who have never failed to uplift me with their prayers, strengthen me with their love, and bolster me with their confidence. Next to my Lord Jesus Christ, there is no one I love more.

I also wish to thank everyone who’s given me advice, made suggestions, offered comments, and answered questions about private high schools, high school counselors, money laundering, federal grants, and physical therapy.

A special word of gratitude goes to my editor, Kim Kemery, and to my proofreader, Melissa Troutman, and to all my beta readers, whose eye for detail continues to provide me with invaluable insight. You’re the best!

Last, but certainly not least, I’m delighted to thank you, my faithful readers, who never stop asking me, “When is your next book coming out?”

You are my inspiration, and the reason I stay up writing past midnight.

Enjoy an excerpt from One Wonders, Book I in the Silas McKay Suspense Series, following my author bio.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Luana developed her passion for spy thrillers and mystery novels at an early age, but she didn’t begin writing her series of Titus Ray Thrillers, Mylas Grey Mysteries, and Silas McKay Suspense until her husband retired from the ministry. Now, she writes from an undisclosed location, trying to avoid the torture of mundane housework, grocery shopping, and golf stories. However, she occasionally comes out of hiding to visit with her two grandsons or to enjoy a Starbucks caramel macchiato.

Luana is a USA Today bestselling author, as well as a freelance writer, minister's wife, and former missionary to Costa Rica and Venezuela. In addition to being an avid reader, she is also a news fanatic, following events around the world on a daily basis, particularly the Middle East. She and her husband are long-time residents of Norman, Oklahoma. She loves to hear from her readers! Email her at author@luanaehrlich.com.

Enjoy an excerpt from One Wonders, Book I in the Silas McKay Suspense Series, on the pages that follow.

BONUS EXCERPT

One Wonders

Book I in the Silas McKay Suspense Series

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Monday, November 28

I rolled the window down an inch to get some fresh air in the car, but I couldn’t tell it helped all that much.

I could still smell Buck Greiner’s heavy aftershave. Greiner, who had a tendency to be a little too aggressive about everything, including his personal hygiene, was in the driver’s seat next to me.

At the moment, he had his telephoto lens trained on a coffee shop across from where we were parked in front of a hardware store in a strip mall in Plano, Texas, a suburb of Dallas.

He was so intent on keeping his eye on the two men inside the coffee shop, he didn’t seem to notice when I lowered the window in order to dispel the pungent odor.

“Taylor hasn’t given Quan anything yet. They’re both just sitting there drinking their coffee and jabbering away,” Greiner said. “It’s gonna happen, though. I’m telling you. I know it’s gonna happen.”

I picked up my binoculars and trained them on the men inside. “Taylor looks worried.”

“If Taylor gives Quan that flash drive, he should be worried.”

Bruce Taylor was employed by Graham Technology Systems, a computer service company located in North Dallas. The security chief at GTS suspected Taylor of passing proprietary information to a Chinese technology company run by the Chinese government.

Liang Quan, a student at The University of Texas at Dallas, had ties to the Chinese government, and Greiner assumed Taylor was about to give Quan a flash drive containing exclusive GTS data.

In turn, he suspected Taylor was about to be the recipient of a substantial amount of cash from Quan.

It had taken Buck Greiner and his team several months to ferret out the person at GTS who was handing over the company’s secrets to the Chinese government, and when Greiner called me last night to tell me they’d been able to positively identify the person as Bruce Taylor, he invited me to join him today to watch the transaction take place.

I immediately cleared my schedule to do so.

I figured Greiner had to be sure it was about to happen; otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked his supervisor—that would be me, Silas McKay—to witness the handover of the flash drive to Quan.

Greiner and I worked for Discreet Corporate Security Services, where I was head of operations, and he ran the surveillance division.

DCSS was exactly what the name implied, and although Austin Tomlin, our CEO, had written a two-page mission statement for our public relations department, the first sentence in the first paragraph summarized it well enough.

“The mission of DCSS is to provide our corporate clients with professional, discreet, and thorough investigations using interrelated systems in order to safeguard our clients’ assets, people, and brands.”

Graham Technology Systems was one of DCSS’s corporate clients, which was the reason Greiner and I were sitting inside a stuffy Nissan sedan in a strip mall parking lot trying to protect the assets of GTS from being compromised by one of its own employees.

“There he goes,” Greiner said, using the rapid repeat mode on his expensive camera to take dozens of photographs of Taylor scooting a flash drive across the table toward Quan.

“And there’s the payoff,” I said, as we both watched Quan pull a manila envelope out of his backpack and hand it to Taylor.

Greiner continued taking pictures of the two men until they said goodbye to each other in the parking lot. Once they drove away, he took out his cell phone and called his backup team.

“Did you get any pictures?” he asked.

After listening a moment, he smiled. “Okay, that’s perfect. Me too. I had an excellent view from here.”

Seconds later, he glanced over at me and frowned. “That’s right. Silas is here beside me.” He shook his head. “Well, I’m not sure he’ll want to do that, but I’ll ask him.”

After putting his phone on mute, Greiner turned to me and said, “This is Jacob Javits. He has an intern with him who’s never met you, and he wants to know if the four of us could go inside and grab a cup of coffee before we head back to the office.”

“Sure, why not? You know me. I never turn down a cup of coffee.”

Greiner got back on the phone with Javits. “Okay. Silas is good with that. We’ll meet you inside.”

When he hung up, I said, “I thought I’d met all the interns back in September. Are you sure I haven’t met this guy?”

“No,” he said, placing his camera back in his leather camera bag, “I’m sure you haven’t. This intern joined us last week, and she’s not a guy. She’s the daughter of the CEO of Precept Healthcare. Didn’t you get the memo Personnel sent out about her?”

Precept Healthcare was another one of our corporate clients, but I fully understood why I hadn’t seen the memo from Personnel.

I seldom saw an internal memo unless my administrative assistant, Claudia Hensley, decided it was worthy enough to bring it to my attention.

“No, I never saw the memo,” I said. “Claudia must have thought it wasn’t that important. You know how she is about my time.”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah. She takes her role of gatekeeper very seriously.” He let out a short laugh. “Are you sure she didn’t work as a guard at the Huntsville prison before you hired her?”

I smiled. “No, I’m not sure about that. I hired her because Austin told me to hire her when I agreed to be his Director of Operations. He said I could hire my own deputy, but Claudia needed to be my administrative assistant.”

Greiner motioned across the parking lot where Jacob Javits and a tall blond woman were walking toward the coffee shop. “A month ago, Personnel told me to hire Ashley Davenport as one of my interns, and since her father is Duncan Davenport, I didn’t question why.”

Duncan Davenport’s company, Precept Healthcare, was our highest-paying client, and although I’d met with Duncan numerous times in his office suite high atop one of the dozens of skyscrapers dotting the downtown Dallas skyline, we’d never discussed his family.

As I thought about it, I couldn’t recall ever seeing any family photos on display, and I usually noticed such things in order to make a connection with the client.

In Davenport’s case, I didn’t need to look for family photos to make a connection with him. Like me, he was a Dallas Cowboys football fan—as evidenced by an entire bookshelf full of signed photographs, autographed jerseys, a couple of footballs from their winning seasons, and even a battered helmet. Starting a conversation with him was never a problem. All I had to do was to mention the ‘boys.

“I can’t believe Davenport’s daughter would need to work a day in her life,” I said. “What’s she doing interning at DCSS?”

“I asked her that same question.”

“What did she say?”

“Why don’t you ask her? I’d like to hear if she tells you the same thing she told me.”

“Okay, we’ll play that game.”

* * * * * *

Cal’s Coffee Café was a little different than most coffee shops, primarily because customers didn’t stand in line to get their drinks.

Instead, customers were seated at tables where they were given a colorful laminated menu containing photographs of delicious-looking coffees, teas, and smoothies, which they were encouraged to study in detail before a barista appeared to take their order.

When Greiner and I walked in, Jacob Javits and Ashley Davenport were already seated at a table by the window. Both of them were looking over the extra-large menus.

The two young people presented a study in contrast. Although Javits was around thirty, he could have passed for a high school kid. His short, skinny physique, along with his baby-face looks, contributed to this misconception.

On the other hand, Ashley Davenport, who I assumed was about the same age as Javits, appeared to be much older.

I couldn’t tell whether it was her stature, the tailored jacket she was wearing, or the self-assured way she held herself. Whatever it was, she definitely looked a lot more sophisticated than Javits, who was wearing a pair of worn jeans and a pullover shirt.

Greiner and I were each dressed in dark trousers, an open-collar white shirt, and a sports jacket. When we took a seat across from the young people, I was reminded of a recent conversation I’d had with my college-age daughter, Marissa, who told me her friends thought I looked like a police detective from a popular TV show.

I figured the customers in Cal’s Coffee Café might think the same thing about Greiner and me, especially if they were able to tell we each had a holstered weapon underneath our jackets.

After Javits greeted me, he gestured at Ashley. “Mr. McKay, this is Ashley Davenport. She’s a new intern in our Surveillance Division. Ashley, this is Silas McKay, the Director of Operations at DCSS.”

Ashley immediately offered me her hand, and when I reached across the table to shake it, she said, “Mr. McKay, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My father speaks very highly of you. He told me to be sure and make your acquaintance as soon as I got the chance.”

“It’s nice meeting you, Ashley. Please tell him I said hello.”

“I definitely will.”

“By the way, you can call me Silas.” I glanced over at Javits. “I’m not sure why Jacob introduced me as Mr. McKay. We don’t usually stand on formality around here.”

Javits shrugged. “Uh . . . force of habit, I guess. Anyone older than me I always introduce as . . .” He paused and grimaced a little. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you’re old, Silas. I was just trying to show respect for someone who’s . . . uh . . .”

Greiner waved his hand at him. “Stop digging, Jacob. That hole you’ve already dug for yourself is deep enough as it is.”

I nodded. “If I were you, Jacob, I’d quit talking altogether.”

Javits smiled and picked up his menu. “I’m ordering a mocha latte. What’s everyone else having?”

* * * * * *

After the barista came and took our orders, I noticed Ashley kept looking over at me like she had something on her mind.

I tried to help her out. “I usually make it a point to meet all the interns when they come to work for us, so I apologize I haven’t met you sooner. Would you mind telling me a little bit about yourself?”

“Oh, not at all,” she said, tucking a strand of her honey-blond hair behind her ear. “The short version is I graduated from SMU with a business degree, went on to get my master’s, and after bumming around Europe with two of my sorority sisters for a few years, I came back here to Dallas, where I went to work for my dad at Precept Healthcare. But, after I spent five years sitting at a desk looking at a bunch of numbers, I told him I didn’t think the corporate life was for me, and I needed to find something else to do with my life, something a lot more exciting.”

She paused when the barista returned with our coffees.

Once he left, I said, “Did your father agree with your decision not to work for him?”

She took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “He agreed with my decision not to work at Precept, but he didn’t agree when I told him I was thinking about applying to the Central Intelligence Agency.”

I gave a short laugh. “No, I don’t imagine he did. Granted, that would be a lot more exciting than a corporate job, but it would also be a lot more dangerous.”

Javits waved his hand in my direction. “You need to listen to him, Ashley. Silas knows what he’s talking about. He served eight years in the Defense Intelligence Agency before coming to work for DCSS.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding her head, “that’s what my dad told me. He said you were a covert officer in clandestine operations for the Defense Department. I’d love to hear more about that sometime.”

“A lot of what I did is still classified, so there’s not much I can say about it.”

“Oh sure, I get that.”

“So your father talked you out of applying to the CIA?”

“Yeah, pretty much. He suggested I try something else instead.”

Greiner asked, “Something a little less dangerous?”

“Less dangerous, but still exciting. He suggested I get my private investigator license and go to work for a PI agency. After doing some research, I decided to attend the Professional Investigators Academy at the University of North Texas.”

“Good choice,” I said. “We have several investigators working for us who’ve gone that route.”

“When I finished the academy, I got my PI license, but then I realized I didn’t want to go to work for someone else; I wanted to be my own boss. It took me awhile, but I finally convinced my dad to help me set up my own agency. He agreed to do that on one condition.”

She glanced over at me and smiled. “Can you guess what that was?”

Greiner looked amused, as if he already knew the answer to her question. As soon as I noticed that, I figured I knew the answer too.

“Did he want you to do an internship with DCSS?”

She nodded. “Not just with DCSS. He specifically wanted me to spend time with you. He said he was sure you could teach me a lot.”

I wasn’t expecting that.

I took a drink of coffee to cover my surprise.

Spending time with Ashley Davenport—or any other woman for that matter—was the last thing I wanted to do.

Six months ago, I lost my wife to brain cancer.

Emma and I had been together since high school, and when she died, a part of me died with her.

Specifically, that part of me that wanted to be around another woman.

Chapter 2

Emma and I met at a high school dance in Sherman, Texas. When we graduated, we went off to the University of Texas together, got married during our sophomore year, and were a month away from celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary when she died.

Now, I was having difficulty even carrying on a conversation with the opposite sex. Thus, the thought of having to spend time with an independently wealthy woman, someone who wanted me to teach her the finer points of conducting an investigation so she could start her own PI agency with her daddy’s money, was distasteful to me.

“So what do you say, Silas?” Ashley asked, tapping her manicured finger on the side of her cappuccino cup. “Would you mind being my mentor during my internship?”

Javits stared at her like she was out of her mind, and Greiner immediately jumped in and said, “Well, Ashley, I’m sure Silas would love to do that, but he’s—”

“Sure, Ashley, I’d be happy to be your mentor,” I said, cutting Greiner off in midsentence, “as long as you don’t mind taking orders from me, working odd hours, watching boring surveillance videos, and following vehicles all over the Metroplex.”

She smiled. “I’m good with all of that.” She reached inside her handbag and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number. You can call or text me anytime.”

Ashley’s card turned out to be her own business card, not the kind of cheap card DCSS issued to its temporary employees.

“I see you’ve already chosen a name for your agency,” I said. “Precept Detective Agency has a familiar ring to it.”

Ashley looked slightly embarrassed. “I doubt if anyone will associate that name with Precept Healthcare, but I decided having that name was a way I could thank my dad for financing my business.”

I didn’t agree with her. The fact that her last name was Davenport and her PI agency was called Precept pretty well guaranteed people would connect her with her father’s healthcare business.

However, none of that was any of my business.

What was my business was making sure Precept Healthcare remained a client of DCSS, and keeping Duncan Davenport happy by mentoring his daughter was a way I could do that.

“Our interns usually sign a contract with us for a year. Is that what you did or is your internship only temporary?”

“Oh no, it’s not temporary. I signed a year’s contract. It will take that long for the construction crew to finish my office building. Precept Detective Agency will occupy the first floor of a three-story office complex off the Dallas North Tollway near the Galleria.”

Javits spoke up. “You should get some good paying clients from that area. What will you do with the other floors of your building?”

“The office complex actually belongs to my father. He plans to lease out the other two floors.”

A few minutes later, when the barista delivered the check to our table, Ashley insisted on picking up the tab. “Let me get this,” she said, handing him her credit card. “It’s the least I can do after I was the one who insisted we take a coffee break so I could meet Silas.”

None of us protested.

* * * * * *

After telling Ashley I’d be in touch, Greiner and I returned to his vehicle, where he began pelting me with questions.

“Are you sure you’re okay with what happened in there? I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense if I got one of our female investigators to work with Ashley? Or what about Conrad? He used to have his own PI agency. You know he wouldn’t mind spending time with her.”

“Yeah, that would make perfect sense, but do you really think passing her off to Conrad would satisfy Duncan Davenport?”

Greiner, who knew Davenport almost as well as I did, shook his head. “No, I don’t imagine it would. I apologize, Silas. I had no idea she was going to put you on the spot like that. When I interviewed her, she told me her father wanted her to get some experience by interning with us, but she never mentioned your name in the interview.”

“You’ve got to admit it was pretty clever the way she set that situation up so I couldn’t say no.”

As Greiner pulled into traffic on Alma Road, he shook his head and said, “You might call it clever; I call it pushy and rude.”

“That too.”

We were both quiet as we headed south on the expressway toward North Dallas where DCSS had its headquarters.

I figured Greiner, who tended to chew on a situation until he had thoroughly digested it, was either trying to come up with a plan to deal with Ashley, or he was trying to come up with a suggestion about how I could deal with her.

For my part, I was asking myself which one of the operations we were running would be suitable for an inexperienced intern, or more importantly, which one would mean I would have to spend the least amount of time with Ashley Davenport.

I hadn’t made up my mind by the time Greiner got off the freeway on Mockingbird Lane.

Since we were getting near the DCSS office building—at Mockingbird and Preston Road—I wasn’t surprised when he brought up her name again.

“I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds by telling you how you should deal with this situation with Ashley, but why don’t you tell her she needs to have two or three months of assisting the surveillance teams before the two of you start working together.”

“So you think I should put her off for a few months?”

After turning right on Preston Road, he said, “Yeah, why not? She’s obviously inexperienced. Duncan shouldn’t have a problem with that.”

“But what good does putting her off do? I’m eventually going to have to take her under my wing and teach her how to fly.”

Greiner didn’t respond while he was parking the car in front of our headquarters building—a five-story concrete structure with a large granite monument sign near the front entrance. The sign had Discreet Corporate Security Services in raised lettering across the top, along with the company’s logo—the letters DCSS inside a black shield trimmed in gold—prominently displayed in the center.

Below the logo were the words, “Founded by Austin Tomlin, 1998.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying you don’t have to make good on your commitment,” Greiner said, as he turned off the engine, “but I just think putting it off for a while might be a good idea.”

When I didn’t say anything, he turned and faced me. “I figured you’d agree with me since you’re still dealing with Emma’s death.”

I rested my head against the back of the seat. “That’s true, Buck, but I have a feeling a few months won’t make any difference. I’ll still be dealing with it then too.”

His voice softened. “Are you saying it’s not getting any easier?”

I lifted my head and looked at him. “In some ways it is. At least it’s not the first thing on my mind every morning, but in the evenings, if I’m not working, I find myself dwelling on it.”

Greiner reached over in the back seat and grabbed his camera bag. “Well then, as long as you plan to give Ashley some instructions, it sounds like you should get together with her in the evenings.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Maybe Ashley needs to work with me on the Lopez case.”

He laughed. “Your evenings are about to be a lot more interesting.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

* * * * * *

Instead of going through the lobby, Greiner and I entered the DCSS building through a private entrance on the west side, something I usually did in order to avoid any media types in the reception area.

Whenever DCSS was involved in a high-profile case, journalists often camped out in the lobby, hoping to get a statement from either me or Tomlin. Yesterday, the CEO of Delmar Pharmaceuticals—one of our clients—was arrested for misuse of funds.

Now, I fully expected a couple of reporters from some of the local news organizations to be on the lookout for me, even though Tomlin had already issued a press release with the pertinent details.

The private entrance to the DCSS building opened up into a hallway where there was an employee elevator. Greiner and I took the elevator up to our offices on the fourth and fifth floors.

The Surveillance Division, where Greiner had his office suite, occupied half of the fourth floor. The Embezzlement Division took up the other half.

Once Greiner got off, I rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, where my offices were located.

I shared the fifth floor with Austin Tomlin, or rather, as the owner and CEO of Discreet Corporate Security Services, he occupied two-thirds of it, and I occupied the other third. My office suite was to the left as I exited the elevator, and Tomlin’s suite was to the right.

The entrance to his suite was a single wooden door with no signage on the wall and no indication what was behind the door. On the other hand, the entrance to my suite was a glass door, providing anyone who got off the elevator a quick glimpse inside. In addition, the signage on my door had Director of Operations in bold black lettering.

Three nameplates were on the left side of the door with Director of Operations, Silas McKay at the top, followed by Deputy Director of Operations, Mike Norwell, and Administrative Assistant, Claudia Hensley.

Claudia looked up from her desk as I walked in.

“Hi, Silas. How did it go?” she asked. “Did you catch Bruce Taylor in the act?”

“Yes, and Buck got it all on camera. Taylor gave Quan a flash drive, and from the looks of the envelope he got from Quan, he was paid a handsome amount of cash for handing over the flash drive.”

“Well, there you go. I’m sure Buck was pleased you were there to see it happen. He’s worked on that case for over a year.”

Claudia was a walking database of every open case at DCSS, and she could usually recall the details of most closed cases as well. If her memory failed her, she could always find the information with just a few clicks on her computer.

“Did I have any calls while I was out?”

Claudia rolled her eyes at me, something she often did if someone asked a dumb question. “Of course you had some calls. However, only two of them were important. You should return one of them ASAP, but the other one can wait awhile. You’ll find both of them in your phone log.”

She picked up a file folder and handed it to me. “Here’s the research you asked me to do on the Biotech Trade Show. Personally, I think it’s a little risky for any of our clients to participate, especially Esotrix BioOptics, but that’s just my opinion.”

She pushed her red-framed glasses up on her nose and added, “But my opinion is one I value very highly.”

I smiled as I took the file from her. “I’ll keep your opinion in mind as I read through these articles. As you know, I may have a hard time convincing the CEO at Esotrix to stay away from this one.”

I took a few steps away from her desk, but then I suddenly stopped and looked back at her.

“Your hair looks shorter than it did yesterday. Did you get it cut?”

She ran her fingers through a section of her short white hair. “Yes, but I didn’t get it cut yesterday; I had it done over the weekend. You just didn’t notice it yesterday.”

Claudia was not a beautiful woman, but she wasn’t unattractive either. Although her facial features were sharp, they were softened somewhat by her pageboy style haircut, and by the neon-colored, oversized glasses she was fond of wearing.

I shook my head. “I guess I had my mind on other things yesterday.”

“Of course, you did. You were thinking about Delmar Pharmaceuticals. By the way, the phone call you don’t need to return until the end of the day is from a reporter with the Dallas Morning News. I’m sure she wants a statement from you.”

I nodded. “And who do I need to call ASAP?”

“That would be Mr. Tomlin. He’s already called you twice today. If you don’t call him soon, he may walk across the hall and camp out here in the waiting room.”

Uh-oh. That wasn’t good.

END OF CHAPTER 2

If you enjoyed this excerpt from One Wonders, Book I in the Silas McKay Suspense Series, you can download a Kindle copy from Amazon and continue reading. Available on Amazon here.

See a list of Luana’s other books on the following page.

Books by Luana Ehrlich

USA Today bestselling author

Available on Amazon

Each book can be read as a standalone novel, but to have the series experience, the following order is suggested.

Order of Titus Ray Thriller Series:

One Step Back, the prequel to One Night in Tehran

One Night in Tehran, Book I

Two Days in Caracas, Book II

Three Weeks in Washington, Book III

Four Months in Cuba, Book IV

Five Years in Yemen, Book V

Two Steps Forward, Book VI

Three Steps Away, Book VII

Four Steps Missed, Book VIII

Five Steps Beyond, Book IX

One Good Time, Book X

Two Good Deeds, Book XI (Coming 2025)

Order of Ben Mitchell/Titus Ray Thriller Series:

(These novels are in the voice of Titus Ray, but Ben Mitchell is also featured.)

Ben in Love, Book I—chronologically, this book follows Two Steps Forward

Ben in Charge, Book II—chronologically, this book follows Three Steps Away

Ben in Trouble, Book III—chronologically, this book follows Four Steps Missed

Order of the Mylas Grey Mystery Series:

A Day Ago, the prequel to One Day Gone

One Day Gone, Book I

Two Days Taken, Book II

Three Days Clueless, Book III

Four Days Famous, Book IV

Five Days Lost, Book V

Six Days Spent, Book VI

Seven Days Off, Book VII

Eight Days Anxious, Book VIII (Coming 2025)

Order of the Silas McKay Suspense Series:

One Wonders, Book I

Two Believe, Book II

Three Confess, Book III

Four Doubt, Book IV

Five Alive, Book V (Coming 2025)