“If we prove Agent Presidio was poisoned, we’ll move to exhume Stokes’s body.”
“Did Kate tell you she also worked the McMahon case?” Lucy said. “It was one of her first, when she was still a rookie.”
Noah didn’t say anything for a moment. “Do you think she’s in danger?”
“I don’t know, but she needs to know there’s a possible risk. If there is a killer at Quantico, they can get to her.”
“If there’s a killer at Quantico who’s seeking revenge,” Noah said, “that means they gamed the system. They got in, and we have no idea who they are.”
“Noah-it’s a lot of ifs, and I have one more. If Hans’s accident and Rosemary Weber’s murder are connected, that means there are at least two people involved.” Lucy grew both excited and apprehensive with her new insight. “Unless my class is innocent and the killer is staff. Staff are the only people who can leave during the week.”
Noah’s expression turned dark. “And staff would know best how to get around holes in security.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
New York City
Sean was antsy sitting around Detective DeLucca’s Queens precinct waiting for Suzanne to work out logistics between the Bureau and NYPD. This was why Sean could never be a cop. Paperwork, jurisdictional arguments, rules. Mostly, rules.
He’d already pulled every article Rosemary Weber had written the week that Tony was interested in, and nothing popped. Sean then pulled the articles for the two weeks before and after. Again, other than an article about the anniversary of Rachel McMahon’s murder, there was nothing that seemed suspicious.
He e-mailed the articles to Lucy and told her what he and Suzanne had discovered. She might see something he hadn’t.
He called Patrick and asked, “Anything on Theissen’s losing battle with the subway train?”
“I’m on my way to Rikers with one of Joe DeLucca’s cop buddies to talk to the kid who pled on the involuntary manslaughter charge. From our read of the case, a disagreement between rival street gangs ended with fists flying. Theissen stepped in and tried to mediate, got pushed back as the train was approaching. Busy time of day, lots of trains. The conductor used the emergency brake when he saw the fight on the platform, but it was too late.”
“And someone pled?”
“One year, in exchange for naming names. Official report is that there were three different gangs all using the same station. One kid made an off-color comment about another kid’s girl, the boyfriend pushed him, a third party stepped in, and then mayhem. The kid in Rikers, nineteen-year-old Gregory Bascomb, was pushed into Theissen, then hit Theissen because he thought he was being attacked from both sides. Theissen then tripped over another gangbanger and fell on the tracks.”
“No trial?”
“Nada. Plea deal was good enough for both parties, and they have several arrested for other charges.”
“Why are you talking to this Bascomb?”
“If we’re going off the theory that Theissen’s death wasn’t an accident, I want Bascomb to ID everyone on the platform who was involved in the brawl.”
“You’re thinking one of them might have planned this? That’s a lot of assumptions.”
“Maybe it was a crime of opportunity. You said Presidio wondered if Weber had been stalked. What if Theissen was being followed? The killer saw the gangbangers, understood the dynamics of how to manipulate the group.”
“As a distraction. Possible.” Sean wasn’t sold on it because there were too many variables that couldn’t be controlled. Sean didn’t like leaving important things to chance. “I’m stuck in Queens waiting for Suzanne and DeLucca to figure out what to do with the guy who pawned Weber’s ring.”
“I’ll let you know if I learn anything at Rikers.”
Sean hung up and still Suzanne wasn’t out of the interrogation room.
He flipped through the neat stack of files on DeLucca’s desk. Nothing pertaining to this case. He stared at the computer. Why had Weber canceled her meeting with the reporter? Who was she meeting that night, and why hadn’t she put it in her planner? Why meet at Citi Field?
According to the sister, Weber had been close friends with Theissen, who had worked at Citi Field in security up until his death.
Maybe Weber hadn’t set up a meeting because of the Cinderella Strangler case-maybe it had something to do with Theissen’s accident.
Or maybe that’s what the killer wanted her to think.
Suzanne came down the hall. “So Rogan, we’re letting Bartz go on a misdemeanor charge of selling stolen goods. NYPD will handle him. His alibi checks out the night Weber was killed.”
“The killer gave him the ring?” Sean said.
“Most likely. But we don’t have much to go on, Bartz is an idiot, the sketch artist is pulling her hair out, and security cams in the area aren’t giving us anything except the guy’s ass. He knew where the cameras were. Just like he knew where the cameras were in Citi Field and avoided them.”
“I’ve been having a hard time figuring out why a reporter with a long career and the gut instincts to match would meet anyone at Citi Field, even someone she trusted,” Sean said. “If it was someone she knew, why meet there, in the middle of a baseball stadium? If it was someone she didn’t know, why would she agree to it?”
“That’s been bugging me all along.”
“Her buddy Theissen worked there before he died. What if she was meeting another employee? Or thought she was? “It would have to be legit; at least she thought it was legit. So there should be a record of the arrangement somewhere. An e-mail. A phone call.”
“We have her cell phone records.”
“When did she cancel her meeting with her reporter friend?”
Suzanne flipped through her notes. “I don’t have a specific time,” she said. “They were supposed to meet at a bar at nine thirty, but she called to cancel late that afternoon.”
“Likely she set up the Citi Field meeting right before that.”
“I’ll have my analyst pull all the calls to and from Weber an hour before she cancelled on Banker. This just might be it, Rogan.”
But the phone numbers didn’t lead anywhere, and Sean was even more frustrated than earlier.
Rosemary Weber had called Banker at 4:45 Tuesday afternoon to cancel their meeting. She’d neither made nor received any phone calls on her cell phone or home phone in the hour before she canceled with Banker. Earlier in the day she’d made calls to the morgues in Brooklyn and Queens, to her assistant three times, and to the Starbucks where one of the Cinderella Strangler victims worked.
Suzanne was just as frustrated as Sean as they stared at the information. She picked up the phone without a word and called one of the numbers.
While he was waiting, Patrick called. “Thank God you’re done; I want to go home,” Sean said.
“Not so fast. I just spoke to Bascomb and we watched the security feed again. Several times in fact. He IDed every guy involved in the brawl except one.”
Sean leaned forward. “Do we have a good image?”
“Unfortunately, no. The quality was piss-poor as it was and Bascomb IDed people because he knew them well or by what they were wearing. But I called my former brother-in-law, the D.A. in San Diego, and he called the D.A. in New York, and I’m on my way to pick up the original digital copy of the security feed. I have to return it before we leave New York, but-”
“If we have the original I can enhance it,” Sean finished for him.
“We’ll be in Queens in forty-five minutes; hold tight.”
Sean hung up at the same time Suzanne got off her call. “We may have a lead on the guy who started the fight that knocked Theissen off the subway platform,” he told her.