Mercer did the calculations in his head. They had hit Dr. Tunis outside of Chicago on their way to Abe’s home in Ohio. The time they spent ransacking her office and residence was why he had beaten them to Hardt College. Otherwise they would have driven through the night and struck Abe’s long before he arrived. Had that been the case, he was certain Jordan Weismann would have been killed.
“What about her research?” Mercer asked, purging himself of emotion so he could focus on the investigation. “And we need anything you can recover from the computer servers at Hardt College too. Whatever they were working on is what got them killed.”
“We already have people on that, Dr. Mercer,” she assured him. “Please, why don’t you tell me everything from the very beginning.”
He went through his story again, giving as much detail as he could. Kelly Hepburn seemed impressed by his escape from the mine and subsequent chase in the big bucket loader. Nate Lowell looked at him as if it were all bullshit.
“You can verify my story with Detective Paul Gerard of the Minnesota State Police,” Mercer concluded, not caring what Lowell thought. The guy was a grade-A mouth breather.
“We’ve seen his report,” Hepburn confirmed, “though we aren’t entirely sure why he didn’t keep you at the mine as a material witness.”
Mercer gave a little lopsided grin. “Don’t blame him. I snuck off a minute before he made my presence there mandatory. Also, this bag on the desk contains everything I recovered from Abe’s office. I’m sure your people are going over the space yourselves, so add the contents of his trash can to the other piles of evidence.”
“Hey, asshole,” Nate Lowell snarled. “Whatever you took from the crime scene has already broken chain of evidence. It’s now considered tainted and is worthless to our investigation.”
Mercer kept his anger in check. “Agent Lowell, what I saved from certain ruin from water damage will not help in the slightest in getting a conviction for Abe’s murder, so chain of evidence is moot. What it might provide is a direction to pursue, a clue perhaps as to what he and the others were working on.”
Lowell leaned forward, his jaw working like he was gnawing on his next words before spitting them in Mercer’s face. Mercer ignored him and pegged Kelly Hepburn with his storm-gray eyes. “I am going off the assumption that Abe brought a geologic sample with him to the Leister Deep Mine. My hope is that whatever box or bag or carton it had once sat in was dumped in the trash when he transferred it to a more secure travel case. I could be way wrong here, but it makes logical sense.”
“What makes logical sense here—” Lowell started, but Hepburn pressed a restraining hand against his shoulder.
“Dr. Mercer makes sense, provided that the trash wasn’t emptied after Abraham Jacobs left for Minnesota.”
“Abe arrived the morning he died, and I was in his office less than twenty-four hours later. Also he’s the only one to use this trash can.” Mercer lifted the bag and its sodden contents. “All this crap didn’t get in here by magic.”
Though she’d recorded Mercer’s statement on her phone, she had also taken the time to jot down notes in a small spiral-ringed booklet. She flipped back a few pages. “You said that yesterday was the first time you met Jordan Weismann?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Mercer leaned back a little in his chair, noting Lowell’s hackles were back down.
“But you hadn’t heard of her before?” Hepburn asked with a touch of doubt in her voice. “She says you share a mutual friend.”
“Trust me, Agent Hepburn, Abe Jacobs was the most generous person I have ever known. He collected friends his entire life, and there are hundreds if not thousands of former students and colleagues left in his wake. I know just a handful of them — and even in those cases I probably haven’t spoken to them in years — so before you ask your next question, no, there is no way I can verify that Jordan and Abe were friends. I suggest finding out who her father is and pursue her relationship with Abe from that direction.”
The agent wrote down Mercer’s suggestion. “We would like to speak to her, of course,” she said, lifting her pen from the pad.
“No problem to me,” Mercer replied, “but she is asleep and spiking a fever. If it hasn’t gone down by tomorrow morning, I am probably going to take her to a doctor.”
“Would you have a problem if I leave an agent here?” Hepburn asked.
“None whatsoever, provided it’s not Agent Lowell.”
Lowell bristled once again and his jaw went into overtime. “Relax,” Mercer said, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s for your protection. You see, Drag has gotten a taste of FBI ass and would go after yours if he had half a chance.”
The agent came out of his chair, propelled by his well-muscled arms and a bruised ego. “You son of a bitch.”
“Stand down, Nate,” Kelly Hepburn shouted. “That’s an order.” She shot Mercer a look that asked if provoking her partner had been strictly necessary.
Mercer shrugged. He had done it because if he hadn’t, Lowell would have been assigned protective detail, and at some point the guy would have crossed a line and Mercer would have been forced to deck him. Nate Lowell looked to be the kind of bully that would stand behind his shield if he got his ass kicked, and Mercer would be facing a striking-a-federal-officer rap. He didn’t want to push his friendship with Dick Henna that far. Better to provoke a Pavlovian response in front of his partner and have Lowell sent home. One of the tac-team guys could come back and babysit.
“Go outside and get some air,” she ordered hotly.
Lowell pivoted on his foot and marched from the office. From Mercer’s perspective the situation got a little funnier because he could hear Harry and Drag coming through the front door as the FBI agent was trying to leave. Harry kept his old dog from biting at Lowell, but Drag barked it up like he was Cujo’s long-lost cousin. Mercer smiled at the ruckus, and even Kelly Hepburn snickered.
“Sorry about Nate,” she said. “He was recently medically DQed from working HRT and hasn’t adjusted to being a regular field agent.”
“Excuse?”
“Explanation.”
“He has the look of a door kicker,” Mercer admitted.
“A damn good one until he took a nine-millimeter to the gut. He’s recovered enough to stay with the Bureau but his door-kicking days are behind him.” Kelly Hepburn stood to leave. Mercer also got to his feet. He picked up the bag of wet garbage.
“One last question,” she said. “What is your relationship to Jordan Weismann?”
“My relationship? I don’t have one with her. She was in trouble. I bailed her out and now she’s asleep in my guest room. End of story.”
“Where does she go from here?”
“That’s not up to me. Call me tomorrow to see if she’s up for questioning and ask her yourself.” He found himself hoping her curiosity on this subject was more personal than professional. He presented the bag to her like a date proffers flowers. “Don’t say I never gave you anything, Agent Hepburn.”
“I’ll be in touch in the morning, Dr. Mercer.” She shook his hand with a firm up and down motion, and she was out the door with the evidence slapping against her leg. Mercer heard Harry rumble something to her, and a second later the front door closed for a final time.
Mercer met Harry and Drag on the spiral stairs, the pair of them struggling mightily. Drag’s slow pace was something Mercer was used to. He was a little concerned about Harry until he remembered the impotent lecher had been dancing for God knew how long before he came home. The old bastard hadn’t been hurt in the scuffle. He’d worn himself out partying.