She wished she could take it back. She knew it wasn’t true.
“I guess I deserved that,” Ned said, “but I figure by now you already checked with Stoughton, so you know I was telling you the truth. Are you tracing this, Ellie?”
“No,” she quickly replied, though she knew it sounded more like
Of course I’m taping this, you dope. I’m with the FBI.
“Great.” Ned blew out an exasperated breath. “Guess there’s not a whole lot more I have to lose. Okay, I was with her, Ellie. But I didn’t kill Tess. You don’t understand….”
“Here’s one thing I understand perfectly, Ned. You say you’re innocent—then prove it.
Turn yourself in!
I give you my word I’ll make sure every part of your story gets fully checked out. You never threatened me yesterday. That was good. That can work for you. But, please, I’m trying to help you, Ned. This is the only way.”
There was a deep, extended pause. For a while she wasn’ sure if she had lost him. Finally Ned sighed, “I think I should go.”
“What are you going to do?” Ellie heard the emotion in her own voice. “Get yourself killed?”
He hesitated a moment. “You find Gachet?”
She glanced at her watch. She was sure they had had enough time to establish some kind of whereabouts for him. He was probably in a phone booth anyway, and in a minute he’d be gone. “No,” she replied, “we haven’t found him yet.”
“Then keep looking, Ellie, please. But you’re wrong. You’re wrong about Tess. I would never have killed her, Ellie.”
“Another lifelong friend?” Ellie said, angry, blowing out a frustrated breath.
“No,” Ned said softly. “Nothing like that. You ever felt yourself falling in love, Ellie?”
Chapter 39
DENNIS STRATTON was fuming.
He had a copy of
USA Today
on the desk in front of him—and a
Boston Globe.
This total fucking amateur was screwing up everything in a major way.
As Stratton read about the botched FBI arrest up in Boston, the lining in his stomach began to tighten. He had told them to get professionals, and who had they sent? That bitch from the Art Theft Department down here. Now they had blown it. This Ned Kelly character could be anywhere.
And the son of a bitch had something very precious that belonged to him.
The FBI had bungled things. Damn it, he had warned them. Now he couldn’t take any more chances. Kelly needed to be found. He didn’t give a shit what happened to him. As far as he was concerned, Kelly should have ended up in that house in Lake Worth with the rest of them. Stratton straightened the newspaper and read. FBI sources said they had no direct leads on the suspect’s whereabouts. This was becoming a very public nightmare for him.
Stratton took out a cell phone and punched in a private number. After three beeps, a familiar voice answered. “Gimme a minute, okay?”
Stratton waited impatiently, checking the morning faxes. He had nurtured this particular relationship for a long time. Now it was time to call in the chits. He’d been paying for the guy’s godforsaken kids in private school. For bonefishing trips to his house in the Keys. And right now, Stratton needed to collect on his investment.
The voice came back a few seconds later. “You’ve seen the morning papers, huh?”
“I’ve seen them,” Stratton spat into the phone, “and I’m not liking what I read. The FBI has made a mess of things. Kelly has something very important that belongs to me. Don’t be fooled—
he has the goods.
You said you were handling things. So far, I don’t see any evidence that the situation is ‘handled.’ It’s only getting worse.”
“It’ll be taken care of,” the man said, trying to sound calm. “I have a man in the area already. He assures me we have a lead on Mr. Kelly.”
“I want what’s mine. I don’t have to make that any clearer, do I? Whatever else happens is of no concern to me. This is just business.”
“I think I get the picture, Mr. Stratton. Relax,”
“I guess I deserved that,” Ned said, “but I figure by now you already checked with Stoughton, so you know I was telling you the truth. Are you tracing this, Ellie?”
“No,” she quickly replied, though she knew it sounded more like
Of course I’m taping this, you dope. I’m with the FBI.
“Great.” Ned blew out an exasperated breath. “Guess there’s not a whole lot more I have to lose. Okay, I was with her, Ellie. But I didn’t kill Tess. You don’t understand….”
“Here’s one thing I understand perfectly, Ned. You say you’re innocent—then prove it.
Turn yourself in!
I give you my word I’ll make sure every part of your story gets fully checked out. You never threatened me yesterday. That was good. That can work for you. But, please, I’m trying to help you, Ned. This is the only way.”
There was a deep, extended pause. For a while she wasn’ sure if she had lost him. Finally Ned sighed, “I think I should go.”
“What are you going to do?” Ellie heard the emotion in her own voice. “Get yourself killed?”
He hesitated a moment. “You find Gachet?”
She glanced at her watch. She was sure they had had enough time to establish some kind of whereabouts for him. He was probably in a phone booth anyway, and in a minute he’d be gone. “No,” she replied, “we haven’t found him yet.”
“Then keep looking, Ellie, please. But you’re wrong. You’re wrong about Tess. I would never have killed her, Ellie.”
“Another lifelong friend?” Ellie said, angry, blowing out a frustrated breath.
“No,” Ned said softly. “Nothing like that. You ever felt yourself falling in love, Ellie?”
Chapter 39
DENNIS STRATTON was fuming.
He had a copy of
USA Today
on the desk in front of him—and a
Boston Globe.
This total fucking amateur was screwing up everything in a major way.
As Stratton read about the botched FBI arrest up in Boston, the lining in his stomach began to tighten. He had told them to get professionals, and who had they sent? That bitch from the Art Theft Department down here. Now they had blown it. This Ned Kelly character could be anywhere.
And the son of a bitch had something very precious that belonged to him.
The FBI had bungled things. Damn it, he had warned them. Now he couldn’t take any more chances. Kelly needed to be found. He didn’t give a shit what happened to him. As far as he was concerned, Kelly should have ended up in that house in Lake Worth with the rest of them. Stratton straightened the newspaper and read. FBI sources said they had no direct leads on the suspect’s whereabouts. This was becoming a very public nightmare for him.
Stratton took out a cell phone and punched in a private number. After three beeps, a familiar voice answered. “Gimme a minute, okay?”
Stratton waited impatiently, checking the morning faxes. He had nurtured this particular relationship for a long time. Now it was time to call in the chits. He’d been paying for the guy’s godforsaken kids in private school. For bonefishing trips to his house in the Keys. And right now, Stratton needed to collect on his investment.
The voice came back a few seconds later. “You’ve seen the morning papers, huh?”
“I’ve seen them,” Stratton spat into the phone, “and I’m not liking what I read. The FBI has made a mess of things. Kelly has something very important that belongs to me. Don’t be fooled—
he has the goods.
You said you were handling things. So far, I don’t see any evidence that the situation is ‘handled.’ It’s only getting worse.”
“It’ll be taken care of,” the man said, trying to sound calm. “I have a man in the area already. He assures me we have a lead on Mr. Kelly.”
“I want what’s mine. I don’t have to make that any clearer, do I? Whatever else happens is of no concern to me. This is just business.”
“I think I get the picture, Mr. Stratton. Relax,”
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