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Chapter 77
I lay onmy hotel bed, thinking of Mary Catherine. Wearing all my clothes, including my shoes, with my feet dangling. It was a loser’s pose, taken when everything had gone to shit. And it felt like one, accomplishing nothing except making me realize I could barely move.
I felt like a lovesick teenager. I missed her so much. But I couldn’t see her. All the threats and commands to return home had made little impact on me. But hearing the loneliness in my wife’s voice almost broke me. I considered giving up. Going home. Living my life.
My stomach roiled in acid, in part due to stress. I had to consciously unclench my jaw. This was not my usual state of existence. I forced myself off the bed. I plodded to the tiny writing desk under the wall-mounted TV. I plopped down in the chair and grabbed a random file folder.
Was it fate that a four-by-six print of Emily’s FBI identification photo fell onto the desk? It forced me to stare down at her pretty and solemn face. The FBI didn’t care much for agents smiling for their ID photos. That’s when I realized I was going to keep trying to find her killer. Until I had no other options. As far as I knew that could be in a day or two. Fate or not, Emily’s photo stiffened my resolve.
Then my phone rang. It was a blocked number, but I was confident it was William Patel from the NYPD tech division.
William jumped right into it without even a greeting. “I just talked to a buddy at Google. You had narrowed down things so much that he could check it quickly and easily. There was one hit.”
William gave me the number and I immediately recognized it as Beth Banks’s phone.
“Could he go into any details about the hit?”
William said, “He explained to me that Maps and some of the other Google programs randomly interface with satellites. It’s a way to keep the GPS as accurate as possible. He couldn’t narrow down the exact location of the phone on that date but knew that it had been in Baltimore. He said that it accessed several programs in the evening of the date you gave me. He couldn’t go into much else.”
I made some notes in my main notebook. Maybe I’d stumbled on a good suspect. Frankly, Beth Banks was about my only suspect now. This was a case we had to get exactly right. A jury would be sympathetic to a Stanford-educated woman who was the chief of staff for a Supreme Court justice. There could be no doubt. That’s why I needed a DNA sample. And she wasn’t going to give it to me. Not voluntarily, anyway.
William said, “My buddy says that if you’re going to use any of that information in a report, we have to send him a signed court order.”
“That sounds more than fair. I should know shortly.”
William said, “May I ask why we’re worried about a homicide in Baltimore?”
“You may ask, but I won’t answer. Trust me, William, it’s better that way.”
“Then can I make a request?”
“Of course. But once again, I can’t guarantee I can grant it.”
“If I give you my personal cell, will you deal with me directly? Now you’ve got me hooked.”
“You got yourself a deal, William. And when I get back to New York, I’ll explain it all to you in person.”
As soon as he hung up, I wondered if I’d still be employed when I got back to New York. I also wondered if that would influence whether I gave William the briefing he wanted. I figured if I really was unemployed, I would have plenty of time to meet William at a coffeehouse.
I stood up with new energy. I had a lead, a suspect, and a job to do. I had to follow Beth Banks until I could figure out a way to get a DNA sample.
