The Line Between Here and Gone Read online

  “All compelling evidence. Still, a lot of supposition. They didn’t investigate further?”

  Amanda sighed. “They did. But most of the work fell to the Coast Guard. No body turned up. Not in the ocean or anywhere else. Meanwhile, there was no tangible proof that Paul was alive or that he was dead. The amount of blood on the car seat spoke volumes, but there were no suspects, no motive and no body. After a few weeks, maybe a month, there was no way the cops could justify pouring any more resources into the search. So that was it.”

  “What about you?” Claire asked, tucking a strand of pale blowing hair behind her ear. “What did your gut instincts tell you?”

  A shrug. “My instincts? They were clouded by my emotions. I’m not even sure I knew Paul at all. So how could I trust myself?”

  At that moment, Marc and Hero made their way over. Hero circled the section of road right around the women, then sat down and gazed directly at them. He emphasized his point with a bark.

  “You’re right about the spot where this happened,” Marc noted. “I found an old T-shirt and a bath towel back at the cottage. I made some scent pads and let Hero sniff them. He’s picking up the same smells here. I’m sure dozens of people have been by this spot since, but Paul was definitely here at some point.” Marc stroked Hero’s head and gave him a treat. “Unfortunately, that gives us nothing we didn’t already have—except confirmation that Hero is finely tuned to Paul’s scent. Which is a huge plus. It could be significant when we need it.”

  Casey nodded her agreement. Then she turned to gaze quizzically at Claire. “Anything?”

  Claire was still looking around. A subtle but odd expression—different from the one she’d displayed earlier—flickered across her face. This expression was so fleeting that no one but Casey would notice. But Casey did notice. She also noticed that whatever it signified was, evidently, not something Claire wanted to explain.

  Instead, Claire spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “There’s way too much energy coming at me to pinpoint something exact. So many people have been here, which means an onslaught of sensitizers. Even violence, which is a powerful force, isn’t enough to crystallize into something tangible. I got nothing off Paul’s towel and T-shirt. Maybe if I could hold one of the personal items Amanda described it would make a difference. But as things stand…”

  “I have the suction-cup heart at my place,” Amanda interrupted. “It’s one of the things I kept. Foolish sentimental value, I guess.”

  “Maybe important sentimental value,” Casey amended. “I’ve seen Claire get something off a personal object more readily when she’s actually been in a place where that object mattered.”

  “That’s sometimes true,” Claire acknowledged. “It’s far from a guarantee. But now that I’ve stood at the crime scene, I need to hold that memento. If it’s something Paul had a strong attachment to, I might sense something. Might,” she stressed. She glanced down toward the lake, and that recent odd expression reappeared, then vanished. Something new was clearly bugging her.

  “Can we leave now?” Amanda asked. Her voice and body language were tense, and she looked away from the crime scene, pained by the memories, compelled by something stronger. She looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. I don’t want to leave Justin any longer than is absolutely necessary. And we still have to drive back to Westhampton Beach and go through my apartment.”

  “Okay.” Casey had a lot more to ask, wanting to urge Amanda to recall while she stood on the spot where she’d learned of Paul’s alleged death. But the woman had had enough. And the visit to her apartment was imperative. So they had to go—for now.

  The ring tone on Casey’s BlackBerry sounded. She pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID.

  Ryan.

  “You go on ahead,” Casey told the group. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

  She waited, watching as they walked away. Instinctively, Amanda positioned herself beside Marc. There was no doubt that she found comfort in his presence. It could be because he was the first team member she’d connected with, and the one who’d listened to her heartbreaking situation and agreed to take on her case. Then again, Marc had that same reassuring effect on everyone—except the offenders he went after. They shook in their boots when he approached with that killer look in his eyes and that lethal Navy SEAL presence.

  Casey’s BlackBerry continued to ring. She was about to answer it when she saw Claire pause, her chin up as her troubled stare scanned the periphery of the lake. A moment later, she reluctantly turned away and followed Marc, Amanda and Hero back to the van.

  Making a mental note to question her when they were alone, Casey put her BlackBerry to her ear. “Hey,” she greeted Ryan. “Do you have something for me?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  A hint of a smile tugged at Casey’s lips. There was nothing like Ryan’s cockiness to add some levity to a tense situation. “Yes, wise-ass. What’s up?”

  “A lot. Let’s start with the project Paul Everett was involved in when he vanished—building that mega luxury hotel. Apparently someone bought the land and took over the project a month or so after Paul’s disappearance.”

  “A colleague of his?”

  “Nope. A developer who paid an arm and a leg for the land and the construction plans. I can’t find a single connection between the two men—except for their insight into how awesome a concept this is. And, believe me, I dug. Deep.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Casey replied. “Too bad. It would be a huge lead if there was some link between the developers.”

  “Tell me about it. But that’s a dead end. Anyway, the Shinnecock Indians had just finished building the casino on land adjacent to their Hamptons reservation. It was being advertised big-time, and business was booming. Long before that, the local inns had waiting lists a mile long. Now there’s not enough room to accommodate all the additional patrons who want to shop and gamble at the casino.”

  “So a luxury hotel on Shinnecock Bay would be a major windfall for the developer.” Casey stated the obvious. “We already knew that.”

  “We also knew what a perfect spot for the hotel Paul had picked. He bought that run-of-the-mill wharf and marina for a steal. The fishing industry is hurting. The old-timer who owned the property was thrilled to unload the place—along with the fifty acres of undeveloped land that came with it. It was a gold mine, right down to the ready-made port. No one was being cut out. Any fishermen who still wanted to dock there were welcome. But they were no longer the priority. The plan was to expand the wharf and the docks, bulldoze the wooded land and tear down the shack of an office Paul was using to make way for the hotel. A dredging company would then do their thing—dig a deeper trench on the ocean floor and widen the channel so that large passenger ferries and private yachts could pass through. The ferry service would travel from Manhattan to Shinnecock Bay, along with hundreds of tourists.”

  “They could reach their hotel in a fraction of the time it would take to battle the highways by car.” Casey considered the ramifications of that. “We’re talking about a massive undertaking. Paul would have needed all kinds of permits, cooperation from the town of Southampton, and the right construction companies.”

  “Yup, although we already knew that. Here’s something we didn’t know. Paul was still working on the permits and the town’s cooperation. But as for the construction companies, he was already lining them up at the time when he either took off or died. All of them are legitimate. Most of them jumped at the chance to be part of this moneymaker. Except for one holdback—the dredging company. Because of the company’s strong rep, Paul was still working on them for a commitment. Still, it was an interesting choice of companies, as it turns out. Way too coincidental.”

  There was that ta-da note in Ryan’s voice again. Whatever he was going to say next was going to be a biggie.

  C
asey waited expectantly.

  “Fenton Dredging. Name ring a bell?”

  “Fenton. Lyle Fenton?” Casey asked in surprise.

  “None other. Major business tycoon who owns a pretty substantial empire. The dredging company’s just one arm of it. Plus, as I mentioned before, he’s also on the Southampton Board of Trustees. And, most significant of all, he’s Amanda Gleason’s uncle. His spot on the Board of Trustees didn’t seem relevant before. It sure as hell does now.”

  Casey pursed her lips. “No way that’s a coincidence. When did Fenton and Paul start doing business together?”

  “They didn’t. Not until Paul started pressing Fenton to take the dredging job. Fenton was holding back. I don’t know why. It sure as hell wasn’t due to a low margin. He had to know he’d make a killing from this deal.”

  “You think that’s who Paul was paying off?”

  “Could be. On the other hand, Fenton’s a pretty prominent guy. And a rich one. Would he risk exposure just for some drop-in-the-bucket payoffs? Sounds like a dumb idea to me.”

  “I agree. So let’s take another approach. If Paul needed Fenton’s cooperation, maybe that’s why he made it his business to meet and get close to Amanda. Maybe he was hoping that a relationship with her would tip the scales in his favor.”

  “Now that makes sense.”

  Casey dragged a hand through her hair, which was whipping around from the wind. “Let’s get back to the guy who took over Paul’s project. Who is he and what’s his deal?”

  “His name’s John Morano. He’s a well-established real-estate developer with even more resources than Paul. He got wind of the opportunity Paul’s death had opened up and he jumped on it, purchasing the property with a preemptive offer to Everett’s estate.”

  “And is he moving ahead with the same contractors as Paul?”

  “Seems like it. The important thing is, Fenton’s still a holdout. I don’t know what the deal is with this guy, but he has some kind of agenda. Cash, power, who knows? But he wants something to agree to do the job.”

  “Damn.” Casey glanced at the van, where Amanda was seated in the rear, her posture stiff at she anxiously studied her watch. “We need more time out here. We have to talk to Morano, interview Fenton and talk to the other contractors Paul was dealing with. Not to mention we haven’t visited any of the places where Amanda and Paul hung out together, nor have we questioned Paul’s neighbors and poker buddies. But right now we don’t have time for any of it. Amanda’s jumping out of her skin. She called the hospital, and the baby’s temperature is up. We’re lucky she agreed to stop at her apartment before heading back to the city.”

  “Poor kid. So what do you want to do?”

  “Leave Marc behind to work his magic. I’ll bring Hero home with us. He’ll have completed his job out here. So will Claire.”

  “Hero? Yes. Claire? Iffy. Paul might have left some boxers there for her to commune with.”

  “Ryan.” There was a cut-it-out note in Casey’s voice.

  “Okay, okay.” The clicking sound meant that Ryan was back on his keyboard. “I’ll get all the names and addresses I can. I’ll text them to Marc. If anyone can get maximum info in minimum time, it’s him. I’ll check into Fenton’s schedule. He shoots back and forth from the Hamptons to Manhattan.” A pause. “Interesting. He’s meeting with Congressman Mercer in D.C. tomorrow morning.”

  Casey didn’t even question how Ryan had tapped into Fenton’s schedule so quickly. “Perfect. That’s who we originally thought was Paul’s target to get the support he needed. Now we have both men in the same place at the same time. Find out where Mercer likes to eat lunch.”

  “Likes to eat lunch? I’ll find out where they’re eating lunch and what time.”

  “Of course you will.” Casey smiled. “After that, text Patrick. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone and give Marc more breathing room to talk to the rest of the people on the list. I don’t want him gone for more than another day. I need him home, and so does Amanda. Of the whole team, she leans on him the most.”

  “I know. And he’ll get to see every one of the names I send any way he has to.”

  No elaboration was necessary. They both knew what that meant.

  “Let me get back to the van,” Casey said. “Text me whatever I need to know. Send the rest directly to Patrick and Marc. The fact that the baby’s fever is up means we have less time and more pressure.”

  “On it, boss.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It took Patrick all afternoon questioning people to get a bite, and even that bite was only a nibble.

  It was during his third trip to the coffee shop, purposely planned to coincide with the arrival of the pre-dinner shift. That’s when the strategic move paid off. One of the waitresses—a buxom, middle-aged woman named Evelyn—thought she recognized Paul from the photo of him and Amanda. She wasn’t sure. But if it was him, he came in mornings at around 7:30 a.m. for a roll and coffee—possibly every day, but definitely on the mornings she worked the early shift.

  If Patrick wanted to follow up on that lead, he’d have to spend the night in D.C.

  Then again, there wasn’t any choice—not unless he was desperately needed at home base.

  He was just about to call Casey when his cell rang. It was Ryan.

  “Hi, Ryan,” he greeted him. “I was just speed dialing Casey. I might have a lead at a local coffee shop, but it would mean waiting till morning to check it out. Do you need me back in the office?”

  “Actually, we need you right where you are.” Ryan explained the situation, which was too long and complicated to text. “Fenton’s lunch with the congressman is set for twelve-thirty at the Monocle Restaurant on Capitol Hill,” he concluded. “I made you a reservation under the name of Jake Collins. Some poor lobbyist just had his lunch reservation canceled. No loss. I didn’t like the douche bag’s politics anyway.”

  “Looks like I’m booked for both breakfast and lunch,” Patrick replied drily.

  “So get hungry.”

  * * *

  The FI team made record time from Montauk to Westhampton Beach. It was imperative that they got as much quality time with Amanda as possible before she insisted on getting back to the city and to Justin. They quickly parked, mobilized and took the flight of stairs from the street level up to Amanda’s apartment.

  The apartment was an airy one-and-a-half bedroom place with lots of light. It was located directly over one of the stores that lined Main Street in Westhampton Beach. That meant tons of street noise, especially over the summer. On the other hand, that’s what made the rent affordable. And Amanda was one of those lucky people who could block out the world when she was working. So her photojournalism career didn’t suffer. Her sleep, on the other hand, did, particularly if she wanted to press the snooze button and catch some extra shut-eye. But Amanda was a night owl and new motherhood didn’t exactly lend itself to sleeping in.

  All in all, it was an ideal arrangement for her, keeping her close to her work projects and to the water, where she did her best thinking. And the small den, which counted as the half bedroom, had been converted to an adorable little nursery—a nursery that, sadly, had been occupied for just a few short weeks. Now it seemed oddly hollow, despite the animal-babies wallpaper and linen, the matching mobile over the crib and the flowing primary-colored accents that decorated the room.

  Amanda turned away from the nursery as quickly as possible, barely even crossing the threshold. Her pain was a palpable entity that all four of them—including Hero—picked up on. He made a small whining noise, ceasing only on Marc’s quiet command.

  “This is home,” Amanda concluded with a wave of her arm. She paused, following the others as Claire wandered back into the master bedroom.

  “Paul’s presence is strong here,” Claire commented. “Eve
n though he spent less time here than in his cottage. My guess is that this is where he felt most comfortable, most able to be himself.”

  “Which self?” Amanda asked in a bitter tone.

  “The self that loved you.” Claire placed a gentle hand on Amanda’s arm. “May I see those personal items we talked about?”

  “Of course. I’ll get them.” Amanda hurried down the hall to the coat closet in the foyer. She stood on tiptoe, rummaging around in the back of the top shelf.

  Casey wasn’t surprised by the location of Paul’s things. Amanda had obviously distanced herself and her intimate, personal space with the impersonal, across-the-apartment placement of the coat closet. It was another way to push away Paul’s memory and to sever her emotional ties to him as best she could.

  Meanwhile, Casey used these few minutes wisely, since they were the first ones she’d had alone with her team since Ryan’s call. “Marc, I need you to stay out here another day. I’ll brief you while Amanda’s with Claire. Hero will come home with us.”

  Marc nodded, accepting Casey’s request without questions. He’d reserve those for later, when time permitted.

  Casey then turned to Claire. “What was gnawing at you when we were at Lake Montauk?” she asked bluntly. “You stopped in your tracks and looked around, not once, but a couple of times. What were you sensing?”

  Claire frowned. “Danger. And not past danger, imminent danger. It was very disturbing. But it was distinct. It was out there somewhere—somewhere close by.” She paused, her brow furrowed. “I think we were being watched.”

  “Watched,” Casey repeated. “By whom?”

  “I don’t know. But whoever it was— As I said, there’s danger.”