Bogart shut his notebook. “I think we have everything we need. Thank you both for your time.”
Casey was upstairs in her galley kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee and waiting for Hutch, when Lisa phoned. The call was expected, since three other calls had preceded it—the first two from Patrick, one telling Casey when the Chicago detectives showed up and the other when they left. The third call was from Miles, about thirty seconds later.
Casey had been seriously concerned when Patrick told her what was going on. Even if Miles managed to get through an interrogation, Shannon wasn’t anywhere near equipped to do the same—especially not without warning or preparation.
So Miles’ report had been a real relief. Not only had he and Shannon come through with flying colors but Casey now had a good handle on where the cops’ heads were. They were still uncomfortable with the Miles/Julie coincidences, but, more importantly, they were looking for leads on the Jim Robbins disappearance.
After listening to Miles, Casey had spoken briefly to Shannon, giving her a big bravo and then instructing her to make an immediate and succinct call to Lisa. Lisa’s job would be even harder than theirs had been, given that she was not really Julie and had no knowledge whatsoever about Julie’s verbal exchanges with Jim. Therefore, it was imperative that she be prepped before the cops could show up at Excalibur—to know how and when Julie and Jim had interacted, how their conversations had pertained only to Shannon, and, therefore, how casually she’d known him. And obviously, just as Shannon had never mentioned her final run-in with Jim, Lisa knew full well not to mention Julie’s final findings in Jim’s office. All hints at the PED distribution were off-limits.
Casey listened to Lisa’s recounting of her interview. Thankfully, she’d followed instructions to a tee and held it together. The detectives’ questions had gone in precisely the direction Casey had expected. And it sounded like Lisa’s and Shannon’s answers had been believably alike.
So Detective Kline and Detective Bogart had walked away with whatever suspicions were still nagging at them, but without any facts.
“I don’t understand,” Lisa said in that high, thin, nervous voice. “I thought the Montclair police might show up at Excalibur again, just to see if Milo and I were still here, to kind of check up on us. But an official visit from detectives who came here all the way from Chicago? Why?”
“Because a man is missing.” Casey took a sip of her coffee. “The whole Miles-Lisa-Julie angle is a fishing expedition at this point. Kline and Bogart have done all the digging they can and turned up nothing. They were probably hoping that Miles would say something inflammatory to reignite their case—but he didn’t. So forget the Barnes murder. Now it’s all about locating Jim Robbins, or his remains.”
“What if they do?”
“We’ll worry about that if it happens. But I don’t believe it will. I believe we’ll uncover Robbins’ whereabouts long before they do.”
The brownstone’s front door buzzer sounded, and Casey glanced down at her watch. It had to be Hutch.
“Lisa, I have to run,” she said into the burner phone. “The FBI contact I told you about is at the door. I have a lot to review with him. I’ll check in with you later.” She paused. “We’re getting there. So try to relax.”
“I will,” Lisa answered, this time sounding a little better and very relieved by the fact that another FI-caliber case solver might be on his way into the mix. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Making her way down the four flights of steps, Casey heard Emma’s front-door greeting and Yoda’s simultaneous announcement: “Supervisory Special Agent Hutchinson has arrived.”
“Hi, Emma. Hi, Yoda,” Hutch responded, having long since accustomed himself to Ryan’s omniscient creation.
“Good evening,” Yoda responded. “The temperature in the brownstone is seventy-two degrees.”
Hutch chuckled. Yoda always informed him of the indoor temperature, ever since the first time Hutch had commented that it was a cold night and he was keeping his coat on.
“Not to worry, Yoda. I’m not wearing a jacket.”
“A wise idea,” Yoda responded. “Emma often turns up the thermostat against my better judgement. I specifically keep it at the correct level.”
E
mma made an irritated sound. “I sit near the door, Yoda. I’m the one who gets blasted with drafts.” She glanced up as Casey reached the bottom step. “Thank goodness. Maybe you can tell Yoda to stop pestering me.”
“I don’t pester, Emma. I state facts.”
Casey grinned. “Can’t argue with that one. But, Yoda, it’s fine. I can attest to the fact that Agent Hutchinson is warm enough.” She shot Hutch a teasing grin.
“On that note, I’m going home.” Emma went back to her desk and gathered her things. “You two have fun.”
“We’re working,” Casey responded with a frown. Emma was too young and too new at FI to overstep her bounds.
Emma heard the note of disapproval in her boss’s voice and immediately dropped the subject. “Then good luck with your work. Night.” She headed out the door.
Casey turned to Hutch. “Hey.” She smiled at him—that soft, intimate smile that no one else ever saw.
“Hey back.” The look in his eyes said he’d rather take her to bed than to work, but he was resigned to the fact that he’d have to wait. “Where do you want to work?”