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“Avery Mason is snooping around New York, hoping to put together a story about a 9/11 victim identified twenty years after the towers came down. It won’t be long before she learns about Victoria Ford’s history and the crime she was accused of. If you’ve seen her television show, you know she won’t stop at Victoria Ford’s story. She’ll want to know all about Cameron Young’s murder. It’s not a stretch to suspect that Ms. Mason will become very interested in that old investigation. It’s her forte. And Cameron Young’s story involves a young detective named Walt Jenkins.”
Jim Oliver smiled and took a sip of rum, making Walt wait a moment before he continued.
“Avery Mason is going to want to speak with that detective and find out everything he remembers about the case. We need you to get on a plane and head back to New York to get yourself reacquainted with the Cameron Young case.”
Walt, still leaning across the table, slowly raised his eyebrows. “And then do . . . what?”
“Wait for Avery Mason to reach out to you. When she does, we need you to help her with the case. She’ll want to retell the Cameron Young story. It was full of sex and betrayal, which is television gold. Work with her. Give her whatever she needs. And in the process, we hope you can uncover any details about where her father is hiding.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Get close to her. She’s in New York for a reason other than the Victoria Ford story. We think she’s about to help her father somehow, or at the very least make contact with him. If you’re close to her, even if you’re just around her, you might learn something that will help us.”
Walt sat back and shook his head. “Does this little sting you have planned come from the higher-ups? It sounds sanctimonious and desperate.”
“A sting? That’s a little dramatic. This is simply an intelligence-gathering operation, just like the old days.”
“Does it come from the top, Jim?”
“It’s my idea, so it comes from me. If you’re asking if it’s legit, the answer is yes. The brass are onboard because we’re stumped on this Garth Montgomery problem and it makes us look bad. House of Cards was a two-year operation that cost the taxpayers millions, and we somehow allowed the main target to slip through our fingers after we apprehended him. This is the end of the road for me, Walt. My entire career will be defined by what happens with Garth Montgomery. I’ll either be the comeback kid, or the loser.”
Oliver leaned closer to Walt. “Simply stated, I have to find this son of a bitch. In order to find him, we have to get creative. This is as creative as I get. So yes, everyone is onboard, but I pushed to get them there. I need your help, Walt. You’d be back on the payroll for as long as it takes.”
There was a long pause as Walt digested the offer. He’d been looking for something to pull him out of the downward spiral he was trapped in. He never imagined help would come from his former employer. And he had no idea it would involve a case from his distant past.
“What do you say, Walt? Retirement never suited you. We both know that.”
Walt looked back at Jim Oliver, paused briefly, and then nodded.
“Excellent.” Oliver held up his nearly empty glass of rum. “Now, I’ll need another one of these before I get into the details.”
Walt stared at his former boss for a long moment. Finally, he raised his hand and flagged down the pretty waitress with the sweet Jamaican accent. For the rest of the afternoon, and deep into the evening, he listened to Jim Oliver describe the operation that would pull him back to New York. He did his best to drown his doubt in rum.
PART II
Fate
CHAPTER 15
Catskill Mountains, NY Friday, June 25, 2021
THE HOUSE WAS NESTLED SOMEWHERE IN THE FOOTHILLS OF THE Catskill Mountains. Avery sat behind the wheel of the Range Rover as she cruised the two-lane mountain roads flanked on each side by thickets of forest. The drive was peaceful, with only the occasional car passing in the opposite direction. An hour and a half after she left the city, she turned into the drive of Emma Kind’s home. It was a cute Victorian with a wraparound front porch and a score of potted hibiscus hanging in long lines from the eaves. Even before Avery turned off the ignition, a round woman with graying hair walked through the screen door and stood on the porch. She looked to be in her sixties. She smiled from behind wire-framed glasses and lifted her hand in an amicable wave. The gesture prompted Avery to do the same from the front seat.
“You have got to be kidding me,” the woman said as Avery climbed from her car. “Avery Mason, in my front yard.”
Avery smiled as she walked toward the porch. When Avery had called earlier in the week, she’d heard more than a little skepticism in Emma Kind’s voice about whether she was really speaking with Avery Mason, the host of American Events.
“This is too much,” the woman said. “I told you I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it, and now I’m seeing it.”
“Your house is gorgeous,” Avery said when she reached the bottom of the porch steps.
“Thank you. Come inside, please.”
She climbed the front steps. “Avery Mason.”
The woman shook her hand emphatically. “Emma Kind. This is really just too much. Come on in.”
Avery followed Emma inside. The interior of the house was as quaint—a mixture of classic Victorian with a woodsy vibe. Sturdy oak beams lined the pitched ceilings, cherry-oak wood floors shined with the afternoon sun, and ornate moldings outlined the entryways.
