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“Didn’t mean to step out of line.” He pulls out his phone and checks it. “I need to head out. I’ll look for your text with those names.” He stands. I push my chair back and face him. “How well do you know Jack Sullivan?”
“We went to the Naval Academy together,” I answer. I do not offer that I hadn’t seen him in over a decade.
He nods. It is a thoughtful nod, one that says he is thinking things he doesn’t intend to share. But his question implies his haze of suspicion is directed Sullivan’s way. I don’t blame him. The San Diego Police Department met with Sullivan multiple times. He’s the father and bound to fall under scrutiny.
After saying our goodbyes to Ryland, I tap on Erik’s office door.
“If Sullivan Arms were doing something illegal, like selling guns in some illegal manner, how would you go about finding that out?”
Erik wheels his chair away from the five monitors across his desk, and his head appears to the side of the last monitor.
“You mean, other than asking him? Are we not trusting Sullivan?”
“I’d trust him with my life. Doesn’t mean he, or his company, hasn’t broken federal laws.”
“Well, pull up chairs. Let’s brainstorm what data we need. I’ll make sure I have resources gathering it. How’d that meeting go with the FBI?”
I pull out a chair and shake my head at my friend and business partner. “Fine.”
“I’ll reach out to one of the forensic accountants we use. Would Sullivan give us access to his books, or do we need to hack in?”
Alex’s eyes widen.
“We probably won’t find anything. It’s a public company,” I say. Of course, public companies get caught in illegal transactions all the time. But there is no need for my slender law-abiding sleuth to worry at this stage. Right now, this is pure speculation. A broad hunt.
A text from Jack comes through.
Jack Sullivan: FBI offered resources for an additional search.
My hired crew searched every single street in San Diego and the beach, but another sweep wouldn’t hurt, so I responded with a quick “Great.”
Five days in on a missing persons case with no lead, we’ll take every bit of help we can get.
Through our office windows, the morning sky radiates crystal blue sprinkled with scattered fluffy white clouds. Skateboard wheels rolling down the sidewalk, laughter, a squeal, and the hum of music all filter in through the glass, a reminder that, outside, the world at large enjoys a Saturday. From my desk, I can see Alex in a temporary cube. When I approach, she’s reading an article on ghost guns.
Ghost guns is a term used to describe guns built from parts without serial codes. It’s a significant issue. There is no legitimate reason to want a gun without a serial number. No serial number means the gun can’t be traced. Yet around forty thousand ghost guns a year are collected in crimes across that country.
“A little light reading?” I ask.
She rubs her eyes and shrugs. “It’s like a rabbit hole. I search for articles about gun sales and find articles about gun laws, most of which seem to be aimed at protecting gun manufacturers. Nothing, though, with relevance to the case.” She rubs her eyes. “I’m driving myself mad.”
“Let’s head out. Take a break.”
“A break?” she wails, aghast at the notion.
“Yes, a break. We’ve got a full staff working. The FBI response team is still being formed, so we don’t have a contact point. It’s Saturday. Jack has to return from another visit at the SDPD to review the photos we sent him and respond with names. Let’s get outside. Fresh air will do us good.”
“Oh, Trace,” she says, and those eyes close as she tilts her head back. “I need to walk my dog.”
“Well, let’s go.”
“You’re going with me?” she whispers. She glances several cubicles back toward Shiloh.Oh, yes. She’s worried about image. Right.
“I drove you here. I’ll drive you back. We can get lunch. And we can discuss what you’ve learned.” My response is louder than necessary. One or two heads glance our way. No one on Arrow’s staff gives a damn. But I’ll play it Alex’s way.
CHAPTER15
119 Hours Missing
