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Chapter 68
Bobby wasn’t outof the lobby before my phone rang. It took me a moment to recognize the Maryland number. It was Emily Parker’s sister Laura.
After I answered, she said, “My mom and I remembered a few things we thought we’d pass on. We also have a favor to ask.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help you guys.”
“My mom is really shaken by Emily’s death. She thought Emily would show up like she had in the past. Anyway, we’re supposed to pick up Emily’s personal effects at the FBI office. Would you consider coming with us?”
“Of course. When do you need me?”
“The FBI was open about timing the appointment. My mom thinks she’ll be up to it later in the week.”
“Happy to do it.”
“I also found a business card at Emily’s apartment. It made me remember her telling me about someone she was close to. A lawyer named Reggie Balfour. I think he’s a high-end attorney who works by referral only.”
I wrote down the contact information Laura gave me. I looked at my watch and realized it might be a good time to intercept the hardworking attorney leaving his office not far from the swanky Capitol Hill area. Better to catch this guy late, as he was leaving, than try to wrangle an appointment.
The lawyer’s elegant three-story office building resembled an art gallery, with wide, tall windows and paintings and sculptures in the lobby under spotlights. When I arrived, I was surprised to see at the very reasonable hour of seven only four cars left in the covered parking lot. Two were small, practical vehicles, like the Prius I was driving. One was a nice SUV that had two car seats in the back seat. That left a black Lexus LS. A nice car even for an attorney. Even an attorney who worked at a firm so exclusive it had no need for a sign.
I parked a few spots down from the Lexus, then called NYPD dispatch. I gave them my ID and the license plate. They had no way of knowing I was off duty and not even in New York. A moment later my theory was confirmed. The black Lexus came back to an R. Balfour. The address on the registration matched the office. I didn’t want to push my situation and ask for any other information.
I decided to avoid startling anyone. I waited in plain sight, right next to the car. I was dressed in a sport coat and hoped that I didn’t look too menacing. At least not to an attorney who drove a black Lexus LS.
Two young women, each carrying a box of files, walked out of the door with barely a glance in my direction. I caught snippets of their conversation. “Meet you at seven tomorrow morning.” All I could think was these poor women had only twelve hours off before they had to return to work. My police job didn’t look so bad in comparison. The women separated and each got into one of the practical cars I’d noticed when I first arrived.
I tried not to check my watch constantly. I had to tell myself I wasn’t hungry, I wasn’t in a hurry, and I had no plans. Sometimes you can talk yourself into patience. I surfed the internet on my phone, checking Facebook to see if my kids had posted anything interesting. I also scanned Instagram for the same reasons. I heard the door. My head snapped up. But it didn’t look like Reggie Balfour. It was an attractive African American woman about thirty-five. She wore a pretty designer skirt and blouse and carried a briefcase that looked like it was designed by Vera Bradley—a symmetrical pattern with a lot of color on the sides of the case. Her professional hairstyle was fashionably short. The diamond earrings looked like they cost more than I made in a year.
She looked up from her phone and saw me standing at the rear of the Lexus. She stopped about halfway between the door and the car. I smiled to put her at ease.
The woman said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just waiting to talk to someone from the building.”
“I’m the last one in the building. Who were you hoping to talk to?” She was careful to keep her distance, and I noticed her take a couple of small steps backward toward the door.
I showed her my badge and said, “I was hoping to talk to Reggie Balfour for a moment. He’s not in any trouble or anything.”
She smiled and said, “I should hope not.”
“So you know Mr. Balfour?”
She had a wide, lovely smile. Like the girl next door. “I’m Regina Balfour. My friends call me Reggie.”
Now, this was a surprise.
