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“Love you.”
“Love you too,” he replied, before hanging up.
“Jack?” Sci asked. “How is he?”
Justine nodded. “He’s okay. He wants us to talk to the client who engaged us to investigate Ivor Yeadon.” She turned to Rafael. “Who was it?”
“His name is Lawrence Finch. I’ve spoken to him already. There’s nothing unusual about him. He’s a dead end.”
“I might just check him out again,” Justine said. “See if any of our new information sparks anything.”
Rafael nodded slowly and looked as though he was about torespond, but Mo-bot leant back in her chair and pointed at one of the three monitors in front of her.
“There we go.”
“There we go what?” Sci asked.
“So I ran the cell-mast data for all phones pinged in the area around Howard Avenue, between nine and eleven p.m., which, based on the abandoned meal and the state of the Bostics’ bodies, is when Sci estimates the shooting took place,” Mo-bot explained, obviously quite pleased with herself.
“I then cross-referenced with the masts near the apartment where Jessie and Lewis were shot and with the mast nearest this building a week prior to the discovery of the bombs. There is only one phone that’s been to all three places during those times.”
Justine looked at the screen Mo-bot was pointing to and realized it showed a birds-eye view of a location. There was a street, a building, and a little flashing beacon marking the position of the cell phone in question.
“Even the most ruthless killer can be careless,” Mo-bot remarked. “And no one would expect anyone to do this kind of analysis. Given the fact the phone has kept moving after the Bostics’ deaths, we can safely assume it doesn’t belong to them.”
“You’re a superstar,” Sci remarked.
“It was your idea,” she replied.
“When the mutual admiration fest is over, shall we figure out what we’re going to do?” Justine said.
“I think we should check out whoever owns this phone,” Rafael suggested. “We don’t have enough to involve the police. There’s no probable cause. Could be coincidental.”
Sci nodded. “It’s circumstantial so far. Any decent attorney could argue this person’s presence at the locations was pure coincidence. But in our experience, how likely is that?”
“I say we check it out and see if we can get any other evidence,” Rafael said.
The lawyer wasn’t part of the investigative team, but his instincts were good.
Justine nodded. “You and Sci find this phone and identify its owner,” she told Mo-bot. “I’m going to talk to our client, Lawrence Finch, and find out why he engaged us to investigate Ivor Yeadon.”
“You don’t want us to tag along?” Mo-bot asked.
“I think the dream team already has their hands full.” Justine smiled, and got replies in kind from Sci and Mo-bot.
“I’ll help them, Justine,” Rafael suggested. “I want to help bring this guy to justice.”
They all exchanged nods.
“Okay,” Mo-bot said. “Let’s go see if we can catch a killer.”
CHAPTER 36
JUSTINE HAD TRIED Lawrence Finch at his firm, Leyland & Co., but had been told he was working from home, so she’d checked his address on the Private client-engagement file and taken a cab uptown to a fully serviced apartment block off Third Avenue, near Union Square Park.
She spent the cab ride learning as much as she could about their client. According to LinkedIn, various reports on TheStreet and other purported insider blogs, Finch was a fast-living, high-flying banker with over $10 billion under management in his fund.
Fifteen minutes after she’d left Leyland & Co., the cab pulled up outside a striking contemporary building with smoked-glass windows, golden metalwork, and more than a hint of Trump Tower about it.
