Page 138 of The Deadly Shallows

“Any idea of his relation to Scott?”

“No. But my spidey-sense says brother.”

“You’re probably right. And he’s active duty?”

Noah scanned the fine print at the bottom just as Emmy said it aloud. “Stationed at Pensacola, Florida.”

“We’re meeting with Jack Weaver, Scott Mirch’s defense attorney in . . .” Noah glanced at his watch, “in a half hour. See how soon after you can get Brooke and me on a flight to Pensacola.”

“On it,” Emmy said, pushing off her desk and moving to sit at it.

“Me too?” Brooke said.

“First, I don’t like you out of my sight.” He grinned. “For more reasons than one.”

She shook her head on a smile. “And second?”

“You knew Scott. However this man is related to him, you might be able to strike up a conversation about Scott that can lead to some helpful information.” Any information on Scott Mirch or his elusive family would be a huge leap forward in the investigation.

The man at the front desk of Weaver & Sons, Attorneys at Law stood. “Mr. Weaver is ready to see you now,” he said, holding his tie against his chest as he directed them to an imposing dark wood door.

He opened the door, announced them, and politely excused himself.

Jack Weaver, a robust man with wavy blond hair and a dark tan—quite unusual for this time of year—stood and reached across his large cherry desk to shake their hands. “Agent Rowley and Petty Officer Kesler. Please sit.” He gestured to the two chairs facing his desk. “How can I be of assistance?”

As she sat, Brooke took in the pictures lining the long wall of bookcases. Weaver and who she assumed was his family on a sailboat in clear blue waters and on a white, sandy beach and smiling for a selfie under a palm tree. Now the tan was making sense. They were the tropical-traveler types.

“We met with Brett Anderson yesterday,” Noah began.

“Brett Anderson,” Weaver said, rocking back in his desk chair as he folded his hands across his belly. “How is he doing? I’ve missed seeing him since I went into private practice.”

“You’re former JAG?” Noah prompted.

“Yeah.” Jack rocked forward and moved to retrieve a picture off his credenza. He smiled at it, then handed it to Brooke.

It was Jack in his JAG uniform probably twenty years ago. She passed the picture to Noah.

“As you can see, that was a long time ago.” Jack retook his seat. “Brett and I used to go at it back in the day. Good man, that guy.” He rested his forearms on his desktop. “You said you wanted to discuss Scott Mirch?”

“Yes, sir,” Noah said.

“Jack, please. But I’m curious why now? Scott went to prison seven years ago.” He tapped the shiny surface of his desk, piles of folders on either side. “I can’t help but notice the timing of events. There’s a mass shooting on base, and within days, you’re in my office asking about a seven-year-old case. Are you thinking there’s a link between the two?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Noah said. “Brett said you had a theory about a fifth man on the job.”

“Oh . . .” Weaver chuckled. “He thought I was crazy, and Scott adamantly denied it, but in addition to believing Scott that the instructors were in cahoots, yes, I believe there was a fifth man he wasn’t willing to reveal.”

“Why’s that?”

“Someone had to move that money after Scott was arrested. And someone had to tell Scott about the off-the-books cryptocurrency fund in the first place.” He poured himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher on the gold trivet at the far corner of his desk. “Would you care for any?” he asked.

“I’ll take a glass,” Brooke said while Noah passed.

“You mentioned you’re a flight medic on the phone. I’m curious, how does a medic fit into all this?” Jack asked.

“I knew Scott, and unfortunately, I was involved in the mass shooting.”

“I’m sorry to hear that but glad to see you’re doing okay,” Jack said, handing her an etched-glass tumbler with ice-cold water. “How did you know Scott?”