Christmas Cover-Up by Lynette Eason Page A

garage, why isn’t he answering the door or his phone?”
    Before Jordan could answer, his phone rang. He listened for a few minutes then hung up. Katie lifted a brow in silent question. Jordan said, “We got a hit on the guy at the bank who made the deposit into West’s wife’s account.”
    “Who is it?”
    “A guy by the name of Norman Rhames.”
    “Never heard of him.”
    “Apparently he’s got some ties to a terrorist group, but basically keeps his nose clean except for crimes that don’t keep him behind bars for very long.”
    “We need to track down this Mr. Rhames and find out who had him deposit that money.”
    “Help you folks?”
    * * *
    Jordan turned to see a well-groomed lady in her mid-seventies standing in the drive next to Mr. Young’s. She shut her mailbox and headed their way.
    Jordan said, “We’re looking for Mr. Young.”
    “He should be there. Although I didn’t see him take his usual morning walk.”
    “He walks every day at the same time?” Katie asked.
    “Pretty near every day. He’s got a touch of arthritis but even when it’s acting up, he doesn’t let it keep him down for long.” She pushed her glasses a little farther up on her nose. “You’re not his daughter, are you?”
    Katie said, “No, ma’am. I’m Detective Katie Randall with the police department. Mr. Young was involved in a wreck a couple of days ago. We just needed to ask him a few more questions.” She flashed her badge and the woman placed a hand over her heart.
    “He told me about that when he got home. He looked awful. I’d come outside for a short walk, and he pulled into the drive. His son Hunter picked him up from the hospital. Bobby had blood all over his clothes and everything. I asked if he needed anything and he said no, he just wanted to change and get to the police station. He’d seen the carjacker and needed to meet with the sketch artist. Sounded like something right off the television.”
    So he’d arrived home from the hospital and had planned to meet with Tracy.
    “You’re pretty good friends then?”
    The woman smiled, her white teeth straight and even. “I’m Janice McDowell. And yes, Bobby and I are friends as well as neighbors. We try to look out for each other since we both live alone.”
    “How did Mr. Young plan to get to the police station?” Katie asked.
    “He has another car. It was his wife’s. He’s never been able to sell it. Thankfully he wasn’t hurt more than a scratch and a couple of bruises. And that carjacking! Why, what this world is coming to—” She shook her head.
    “Do you have Hunter’s number?” Katie asked.
    “I might have it somewhere. Would take me a while to find it, probably.” She looked at the phone in Jordan’s left hand. “Or you could look it up on that fancy toy of yours. I even know the name of his street because it’s my daughter’s name. Laurel Street.”
    “Hunter Young. Laurel Street. Got it.” Jordan hit dial. “Nate, hey, I need some information.” Jordan had bypassed the white pages and gone straight to his information specialist at Quantico. Nate gave him what he needed within seconds. Jordan dialed the number that flashed up in his text message box.
    “Hunter Young.”
    “Hi, Mr. Young, this is Special Agent Jordan Gray with the FBI. I met your father when he was involved with the wreck a couple of days ago.” Had it only been two days? “He was supposed to come down to the police station to meet with a sketch artist, but he never showed up and we’re having trouble getting in touch with him.”
    Silence greeted him.
    “Mr. Young?”
    “I’m just thinking. I’m working at home today. I can run over and check on him and let you know.”
    “We’re actually at his house.”
    “Oh. Stay there, I’m on the way.”
    Jordan hung up and passed on the information.
    “Oh, dear. I do hope everything is all right.”
    Katie gave the woman a reassuring smile. “We can let you know if you’d like to wait in the