“Yeah, but still. She should know enough to trust me.”
A couple of cars passed by, which forced Tim to momentarily drop behind Rob. The two of them were biking more slowly than they normally did. Talk was taking precedence over exercise. When he was back beside Rob, Tim said, “What does your lawyer say? Is he going to be able to clear this up for you?”
Rob looked disgusted. “He thinks I did it too. Keeps trying to talk me into pleading guilty so he can work out a deal with the prosecutor.”
Tim struggled to show compassion while his insides kept up a violent wrestling match. “I always thought a lawyer was supposed to do his best to get you off, even if he thinks you’re guilty.”
“He thinks the FBI has a strong case against me and we’ll lose.”
“That’s awful.”
“He’s talking about ten years worth of jail time, maybe more.”
Tim shook his head somberly. “So what are you going to do?”
“The only thing I can do is try to figure out who messed up AMS. That’s actually why I wanted to see you today. I was hoping you might be able to help.”
“I will if I can.”
A red light forced them to stop at an intersection.
“I figure it must be someone we work with,” Rob said while they waited. “No one else would know all the details they needed to modify the system.”
Tim struggled to keep his breathing calm. This was striking a little too close to home. But if Rob suspected his buddy, would he really be sharing his thoughts like this?
“Yeah,” Tim said, “we figured it had to be someone on our team.”
“Exactly. I was hoping you might have seen or heard something that I didn’t. Like maybe someone who has a grudge against me.”
Tim tried to look concerned and thoughtful.
“I can’t think of anyone,” he said. “I always thought you got along with everyone at work.”
“Me too, but it seems I was wrong. I tried to talk to Paul and Anthony at lunchtime today. They’re ticked at me in a big way. Didn’t even want to see my face.”
“Yeah, but that’s only since you were arrested. I don’t think they had anything against you before that.”
“What about the others?” Rob said.
Tim shrugged and shook his head.
Rob sighed. “I thought between the two of us we might be able to figure out some likely candidates.”
Tim glanced sideways at his ‘friend’s’ face. The circles under Rob’s eyes were darker than Tim had ever seen before. Everything about Rob said stress, from the expression on his face to the lack of energy he was putting into the bike ride. Tim felt hollow inside.
Ray Landry could see the tops of the two biking helmets. He had pulled his car to the side of the street well back from Rob and Tim. He took a sip from a bottle of water as he waited for them to start moving again.
The presence of Tim was only a minor irritant. Landry could wait until Rob and Tim parted ways before he made his move. The more pressing problem — the one occupying Landry’s full attention — was the Chevy Impala that Landry had noticed when the two young men left Rob’s apartment.
The watchers supplied by Doug Gourley had paid off almost immediately. They had called as soon as Rob arrived home, giving Landry plenty of time to get there before Tim arrived. Landry had hung well back as he followed, as was his custom. In this case his habit worked out well when he noticed the dark blue Impala shadowing every turn taken by the bikes. This meant Landry simply had to keep the Impala in sight.
Landry suspected they were FBI. It made sense. He would put a tail on Rob if he were in charge of the case. Rob could have accomplices and the FBI would be very interested in making their acquaintance. But this put a major crimp in Landry’s plans. How was he supposed to make the snatch when Rob was being watched?
Landry turned a few scenarios over in his mind. They all led to the same conclusion. He needed more help.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Special agent Pradolini sat relaxed in the passenger seat while his partner drove. Rob and his friend were a little more than a block ahead of them. As far as the two agents could tell, the two young men seemed to have no idea they were being followed. Since leaving Rob’s place they had driven in a large loop and were now headed back the way they had come. The traffic light ahead was red and the Impala slowed to a stop behind a couple of other cars.
“Looks like it’s going to be a long night,” Pradolini said.
Special Agent Beck inclined his head in agreement as the light turned green. “They always are.” The cars started moving and Beck eased forward along with them.
“Could be worse,” Pradolini said. “At least we can get the Braves game on the radio later.”
“Not a chance,” Beck said with a grin. “The Celtics are on.”
“Are you kidding me?” Pradolini took his attention away from the two cyclists and looked at his partner in amazement. “I’m talking about the league championship series and you want to listen to some preseason game? That’s not American.”
“So sue me. I can’t help it if—”
A powder blue Ford Taurus cut him off in mid-sentence when it ran a red light and hit their front right fender with a loud crunch. The Impala lurched violently to the left and came to an abrupt halt.
Pradolini’s face stung from the impact of the air bag. He untangled himself and looked over at Beck, whose nose was bleeding.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Pradolini said.
Beck didn’t bother to answer. He yanked open his door and got out. Pradolini’s door was jammed shut. By the time he managed to shove it open, Beck and the man from the Ford were faced off with each other on the side of the street. Broken glass lay scattered at their feet in a growing puddle of radiator fluid.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Beck said.
“I’m really sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t see you.”
Beck whipped out his ID and shoved it in the man’s face.
“You just impeded an FBI investigation.”
The man’s face went white and he started shaking his head. “But … I didn’t mean to … it was an accident.”
“Let me see some ID,” Beck said.
The man fumbled his wallet out of his back pocket and held it open for Beck to have a look.
“Douglas Gourley,” Beck read aloud.
Pradolini shook his head and walked away, leaving Mr. Douglas Gourley to handle the fired-up Beck as best he could. Once he was out of earshot, Pradolini pulled out his cell phone. His call was answered on the first ring.
“Steeves here.”
“Yeah. It’s Pradolini. We just lost the tail on Donovan.”
Pradolini winced and held the phone away from his ear.
Rob waved goodbye to Tim, rode into the parking lot of his apartment building and stopped next to his car. He sat slumped on the bike, not caring as the drizzle that had been falling for the last ten minutes strengthened into a steady rain. He had never felt so dejected.
With a conscious effort, he willed himself to get moving. He opened the zippered pouch under the bicycle seat and pulled out his keys and his wallet, which he slipped into a pocket of his hoodie. Then he popped open the rear hatch of the Pathfinder and lifted the bike into its usual spot in the back.
As he headed toward the building, a dark Buick sedan pulled up in front of him. The driver stepped out sporting the bushiest mustache Rob had ever seen. The thing completely obscured the man’s mouth. The guy was tall with curly, graying hair and wore a black suit with a red tie. Rob’s gaze kept returning to the expanse of hair on his upper lip.
“You’re Rob Donovan, right?”