meeting with my executive staff in less than five minutes. Can we wrap this up?”
“You’ve been more than helpful, Sheriff. Just one last question. You mentioned Ingram had a
couple of his friends
that likely set him up with Grotsworth. Do you remember any of them?”
“There were a few people milling around trying to comfort the kid. Couple of brothers were…” the sheriff stopped mid-sentence. “Son of a bitch!”
“Sheriff?”
“Son of a bitch!” the sheriff repeated. “You’re working the Zalentine case, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“I sent you the summary and the pathology report, but I’ve got the entire Kelch folder right here. We interviewed everyone at Schaeffer’s party. Let me find the list.” Cady heard more paper rustling. “Son of a bitch! That was them!”
“I already knew the Zalentines were at Schaeffer’s party that night, Sheriff.”
“I remember these goddamned twins sitting on the dock with Ingram, rubbing his shoulder, fetching him coffee, consoling him. But what those fuckers were really doing was getting the story straight. A hundred bucks says they’re the ones who got Ingram lawyered up.”
Cady said nothing. A dead silence ensued.
“I am so sorry, Agent Cady. It seemed like such a tragedy at the time. It never occurred to me to hit Ingram with some hard curves,” Sheriff Littman said quietly. “Turns out I didn’t dot every i.”
“No one knew about the Zalentines back then, Sheriff.”
“I’ll tell you what, Agent Cady. I’m going to get Bret Ingram in here pronto. No beanbag this time. I’ll find out exactly what happened at Snow Goose.”
“It’s too late, Sheriff.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ingram’s dead.”
Chapter 10
A fter receiving the findings summary from Bergen County, Cady had sicced Agent Preston on discovering all she could about Bret Michael Ingram, where he was from, any other run-ins with the law, what he was currently doing, etcetera, etcetera. Cady also instructed Preston to do the same for Marly Kelch’s surviving family members—to find out if there might be any father or brother acting as an avenging angel.
Less than half an hour later Agent Preston had stood in Cady’s door.
“He’s dead.”
“You’re kidding me.” The statement was more rhetorical. Cady very rarely joked, but next to Liz Preston he was Henny Youngman.
Her upper lip curled. “Not unless there are two Bret Michael Ingrams with the same SS number and date of birth who attended Princeton during that timeframe.”
“Murdered?”
“No. He died in a fire in Northern Minnesota, almost a year ago.”
“Minnesota?”
“Yes.”
“Get me everything.”
It turned out Ingram limped along at Princeton for another month after the “accident,” sort of attending classes, before packing it in and pulling the plug on higher education. Cady could easily understand how the incident at Snow Goose could cause a young man to re-examine his life, but where Ingram wound up next took Cady aback.
“After dropping out of Princeton, he spent three months at the Copacabana Palace Hotel in Rio de Janeiro, right on the beach.”
“Geez, Liz, and here I thought most dropouts moved back home with Mommy and Daddy and worked at Blockbuster.”
Preston shrugged. “Then, after Rio, Ingram resurfaces to close on a lakefront real estate deal in Cohasset, Minnesota, of all places. Actually, he purchased a resort. A place called Sundown Point.”
Cady thought for a second. “We know now why they called Sanfield
the Magician
.”
Cady’s phone rang. He caught it on the first ring. The pathologist had just completed the autopsies on the five female victims pulled from the bottom of Chesapeake Bay.
Cady pulled up behind the D.C. MPD squad car.
He’d been played. The congressman and senator were frightened. Frightened enough, that is, to give the FBI a minor shove in the right direction. Frightened enough to beef up security for Patrick Farris. But not
“You’ve been more than helpful, Sheriff. Just one last question. You mentioned Ingram had a
couple of his friends
that likely set him up with Grotsworth. Do you remember any of them?”
“There were a few people milling around trying to comfort the kid. Couple of brothers were…” the sheriff stopped mid-sentence. “Son of a bitch!”
“Sheriff?”
“Son of a bitch!” the sheriff repeated. “You’re working the Zalentine case, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“I sent you the summary and the pathology report, but I’ve got the entire Kelch folder right here. We interviewed everyone at Schaeffer’s party. Let me find the list.” Cady heard more paper rustling. “Son of a bitch! That was them!”
“I already knew the Zalentines were at Schaeffer’s party that night, Sheriff.”
“I remember these goddamned twins sitting on the dock with Ingram, rubbing his shoulder, fetching him coffee, consoling him. But what those fuckers were really doing was getting the story straight. A hundred bucks says they’re the ones who got Ingram lawyered up.”
Cady said nothing. A dead silence ensued.
“I am so sorry, Agent Cady. It seemed like such a tragedy at the time. It never occurred to me to hit Ingram with some hard curves,” Sheriff Littman said quietly. “Turns out I didn’t dot every i.”
“No one knew about the Zalentines back then, Sheriff.”
“I’ll tell you what, Agent Cady. I’m going to get Bret Ingram in here pronto. No beanbag this time. I’ll find out exactly what happened at Snow Goose.”
“It’s too late, Sheriff.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ingram’s dead.”
Chapter 10
A fter receiving the findings summary from Bergen County, Cady had sicced Agent Preston on discovering all she could about Bret Michael Ingram, where he was from, any other run-ins with the law, what he was currently doing, etcetera, etcetera. Cady also instructed Preston to do the same for Marly Kelch’s surviving family members—to find out if there might be any father or brother acting as an avenging angel.
Less than half an hour later Agent Preston had stood in Cady’s door.
“He’s dead.”
“You’re kidding me.” The statement was more rhetorical. Cady very rarely joked, but next to Liz Preston he was Henny Youngman.
Her upper lip curled. “Not unless there are two Bret Michael Ingrams with the same SS number and date of birth who attended Princeton during that timeframe.”
“Murdered?”
“No. He died in a fire in Northern Minnesota, almost a year ago.”
“Minnesota?”
“Yes.”
“Get me everything.”
It turned out Ingram limped along at Princeton for another month after the “accident,” sort of attending classes, before packing it in and pulling the plug on higher education. Cady could easily understand how the incident at Snow Goose could cause a young man to re-examine his life, but where Ingram wound up next took Cady aback.
“After dropping out of Princeton, he spent three months at the Copacabana Palace Hotel in Rio de Janeiro, right on the beach.”
“Geez, Liz, and here I thought most dropouts moved back home with Mommy and Daddy and worked at Blockbuster.”
Preston shrugged. “Then, after Rio, Ingram resurfaces to close on a lakefront real estate deal in Cohasset, Minnesota, of all places. Actually, he purchased a resort. A place called Sundown Point.”
Cady thought for a second. “We know now why they called Sanfield
the Magician
.”
Cady’s phone rang. He caught it on the first ring. The pathologist had just completed the autopsies on the five female victims pulled from the bottom of Chesapeake Bay.
Cady pulled up behind the D.C. MPD squad car.
He’d been played. The congressman and senator were frightened. Frightened enough, that is, to give the FBI a minor shove in the right direction. Frightened enough to beef up security for Patrick Farris. But not
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