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CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
When they arrived at the DOT office again, Darla said, “Oh, don’t tell me he’s not your guy either?”
“He’s our guy,” Faith said.
“How do you know?” Darla demanded.
“We know,” Michael said.
“That can’t be,” Darla said. “Not Henry.”
“We need to know everyone he helped today,” Faith said. “Every single person. We think he left work early to plan another murder.”
“Oh God,” she said weakly. “He said his cousin was in the hospital. I just let him go. I didn’t think … oh my God.”
“Hey,” Faith said, snapping her fingers. “We can still stop him. Who did he help today? We need to know.”
“Okay,” she said, sniffling. “Um … we can look at his terminal. There’s a list of everyone who visited him.”
They headed to the terminal, where a portly man in his mid-fifties, wearing the same bored expression every government employee Faith had ever seen had, sat impatiently explaining to a pissed-off looking woman that it wasn’t his problem that she filled out the wrong form prior to coming into the office.
“Dan,” Darla said, “we need the terminal.”
“Excuse me?” the woman said. “I’ve been here for forty-five minutes, and—”
“And you need to wait here or get back in line,” Faith said, flashing her ID.
Dan’s eyes widened, and he vacated the chair as quickly as his portly frame would allow. The woman looked about to say something else, but the look on Michael’s face stopped her. She frowned and stormed off, muttering something about taxpayer money.
Darla logged into the terminal. Levinson’s profile booted up, and she explained, “I keep their login information in case I need to reconcile hours. For reporting.”
Faith couldn’t care less about any policy violation Darla’s password-sharing might involve. “Can you filter by marital status?”
She blinked at Faith. “Why on Earth does it matter—”
“Can you do it?” Faith snapped.
“No,” she said.
Faith slumped. “So, there’s no way to tell if his visitors were married or divorced?”
“DOT won’t have that information,” Darla said.
“The IRS will,” Michael said, opening the FBI’s database app on his phone and clicking the appropriate links. “Feed me names, starting from the first one and heading on up.”
“That could take a while,” Darla said. “We close in …”
She saw Faith’s face and thought better of finishing that sentence.
“What do you want me to do?” Dan asked.
“Piss off,” Michael replied without looking.
Dan decided, wisely, to accept Michael’s advice.
While Darla read off the names, Faith called Derek. The detective answered on the third ring. “I’m starting to get really pissed off every time I see your name on my caller ID,” he said grouchily.
Faith ignored the insult. “Derek, it’s not Kevin. We found the rings at another DOT employee’s house. Henry Levinson.”
