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Alex watched the woman reach into her blazer and remove her identification. When she did, Alex noticed the shoulder strap, holster, and gun tucked under her left armpit. The woman laid her credentials on the table.
“I think you and I are after the same thing. At least, that’s what I’ve surmised after watching you run all over campus yesterday.”
Alex squinted her eyes. “The FBI?”
“Sorry,” Annette said. “That always comes off as intimidating when I say it without context. I work for a surveillance branch of the FBI, and my latest client is Lawrence P. Chadwick, Duncan Chadwick’s father.”
Alex chose her words carefully. “Why is the FBI interested in Lawrence Chadwick?”
“Not interested so much as forced to be curious. When someone runs for public office or, say, is about to be tapped for a lifetime appointment on the Supreme Court, they have to undergo security clearance–type background checks. That’s what I do.”
Alex lifted her chin, staring at the bulge under the woman’s left arm. “And you need a gun to do that?”
“Definitely not,” Annette said, pulling her blazer closed to conceal the holster and the gun it held. “I hate this thing, but the bureau requires agents to carry firearms at all times, so I’m stuck with it. And I should clarify what I mean when I say background checks. I vet politicians to make sure they don’t have skeletons hiding in their closets, and I’ve been involved with the Chadwick family for a number of weeks now. I’m sure you’ve heard that Larry Chadwick’s name has been floated as the president’s next Supreme Court nominee. I’ve been tasked with making sure the judge has no secrets to hide. Everything was checking out splendidly. In fact, I was about to put my seal of approval on him. I was this close to reporting back to the president that Larry Chadwick and his family were clean as a whistle. But then I started hearing rumors about Larry’s son, Duncan, and his fraternity’s involvement in rape on McCormack University’s campus. A story like that could be damaging if it was credibly linked to the judge. And if the rumors are true that Duncan Chadwick was directly involved in sexual assault . . . well, that would be a game changer. So, I started my due diligence. Rolled up my sleeves and started looking for answers. Just as I started digging, Laura McAllister disappeared. You can imagine the position that put me in, especially because my boss needs to name a nominee soon. There’s a lot of pressure to get the confirmation process started and over with before next year’s election cycle heats up. So, I’ve got a big mess on my hands.”
Alex raised her eyebrows. “The mess is bigger than you think,” she said. “Laura McAllister’s body was found early this morning. Someone strangled her and dumped her in the woods.”
Annette sat back in her chair. “Well, shit. That definitely complicates things.”
Alex heard genuine surprise in the woman’s voice.
“So why are you talking to me?” Alex asked.
Annette paused before she spoke.
“I saw you break into Laura McAllister’s apartment,” Annette finally said. “You made impressive work of that lock.”
Alex’s breath caught in her throat, preventing her from responding even if she had been clever enough to think of something to say.
Annette shook her head. “Don’t worry, my arresting-bad-guys days ended decades ago when I left the police department. I chase information these days, not criminals. And the information I have tells me that you’re an investigator for a law firm named Lancaster and Jordan, and that you’re poking around McCormack University because your firm represents Matthew Claymore, who was dating Laura McAllister. Matthew is likely a person of interest—boyfriends of missing, and now dead, girls usually are.”
“So you want something from me? Is that what this is?”
“Yes. I need to know what you’ve found out about Laura McAllister’s story and whether Duncan Chadwick was involved in any way.”
“And what? I either help you or you turn me in for breaking into Laura’s apartment? This is like a little extortion plot?”
“No. I think you’re misunderstanding why I brought up the fact that you broke into a dead girl’s apartment to get information. I don’t look down on it, I admire it. I wish I could break the rules when I’m digging for information, but I have the federal government constantly breathing down my neck. I have to keep my snooping strictly by the book. I can’t be as brazen as you. I’m forced to be more subtle. Let me give you an example. After I saw you go to Laura McAllister’s apartment, I figured you were working an angle on a case that’s tied directly to my vetting of Larry Chadwick. So I followed you. I was at Benjamin’s Tavern when you met with Hank Donovan, who happens to be an old colleague of mine from back in the day. He told me you were an investigator for a big firm. It was then that I knew I might need to know what you know, and that I might be able to use you as a source. You see, there’s a loophole there. I, personally, can’t break any laws to obtain information, but I can source that information to others who are more liberated in their information-gathering skills. If you agree to help me, you’d become a source of information. And when I recruit a source for information, I need to dot my i’s and cross my t’s to make sure I’m not getting in bed with a felon, or an otherwise unsavory soul, who could later be deemed unreliable. So I took your glass off the bar and ran the prints.”
Alex sat back in her seat and folded her hands on the table. It was a poor attempt to hide her angst, and she was sure Annette Packard knew she had Alex sweating.
“To my surprise, those prints came back not belonging to Alex Armstrong of Lancaster and Jordan, but to a woman named Alexandra Quinlan. There’s not much out there in the Ethernet about Alex Armstrong, but man, type the name ‘Alexandra Quinlan’ into a search engine and your computer damn near blows up.”
Alex calmly reached into her purse and removed a tube of bright orange lipstick. She applied it to her lips and puckered when she was finished. It was all she could do to stop her hands from shaking.
“I don’t mean to intimidate you,” Annette said.
“Really? You ambush me at a coffee shop, place an FBI badge on the table, make sure I see that you’re carrying a gun, and then tell me that you secretly ran my prints. I think that’s the very definition of intimidation.”
“I’m just showing you how I operate. And I thought I could use the information I discovered about you to gain your trust. I don’t care who you were, I only care what you know. You’ve been poking around McCormack University for a few days, and I’m interested in what you’ve learned. I have a vested interest to learn if Duncan Chadwick was part of the story Laura McAllister was going to tell. My job depends on me getting this right. I’ve got my crew on it, but it might take a while for them to get me the details. Details that you, with your ability to take liberties with how you investigate, might already have. So I’m here to make an offer.”
Alex returned the lipstick to her purse. She looked at Annette and nodded.
“I’m listening.”
“I have the entire Justice Department at my fingertips. If you help me with this case and tell me what you’ve uncovered about the story Laura McAllister was working on, consider me in your debt. If you ever need help with a case—maybe you need something that will impress your boss at that big firm you work for—I’ll use my credentials and my connections to get it done. A straight quid pro quo. You help me now, and I’ll help you later when you need it. No questions asked.”
“And the details about Laura McAllister’s story? If I give them to you, what would you do with them?”
