Page 84 of You Know Why

Theresa’s phone dings as she buckles her seat belt. It’s a text from Armstrong. She reads it aloud.

ID on the two men in the photo. Call me.

She does. “I’ve got you on speaker with Agent Sheehan.”

“Hello, Agent. The driver is Otto Deppe. Last known address is from Ohio back in 2017, before the pandemic. He’s got a record, petty stuff. The other guy is more interesting. Aleksey Ivanovich Durov. Russian national. Interpol’s been looking for him, there’s a Red Notice for charges in two other countries. He served time in a French prison for drug charges, and when he got out took off for parts unknown.”

“Well, he’s here in the States now,” Drake says with relish. “And a murder suspect. I’ll have my people get in touch with Interpol right away. We can enter that information into NCIC and issue a BOLO for both of them. Get ICE and Border Patrol in on the fun. You know how much they love to hunt down international fugitives.”

“Roger that. I can send the information to your email, Theresa. I assume you can take it from here, Agent Sheehan?”

“With pleasure, Captain.”

They hang up.

“Russian, huh. That matches the accent I heard, for sure.”

“This is getting complicated.”

“Sure is. Shoot. I should have asked him where in France he was incarcerated.”

“I’ll be able to look that up when we get to a computer,” Drake says. “Why?”

“Maybe there’s a tie to Brooklyn. She was in France. Durov is after her husband. Maybe we’re looking at this wrong. Maybe this isn’t about Andrew at all.”

Money Money Money

The long drive to the Gussins’ home is lined with cypress trees. They are near downtown Franklin, in an area called Leiper’s Fork. It’s pretty country out here, with horse farms and bourbon distillers and large estates lining the meandering road. The Gussins’ house is almost out of place, a modern European style that feels incongruous against the backdrop of the other, more typically Southern estates. It sports a soaring black tin roof, black-framed windows, a fieldstone facade, and vertical birch siding. And it’s enormous.

“Venture capital pays well,” she remarks drily.

“Would you expect anything less?”

They are meeting the man at home instead of at the office because he is feeling unwell. According to his assistant, the stress of the past few days is making his heart act up, and he asked if they’d mind meeting him in a quieter environment. They were happy to agree. Comfortable people tend to give more comprehensive interviews.

They’re greeted at the door by a quiet woman in a black silk pantsuit. She gestures for them to follow, and they trail her through the magnificent home to the very expensive living room. It looks like a magazine spread, everything perfectly symmetrical, lots of beige-on-beige texture. In her boots and jeans and blazer, Theresa feels very out of place among the priceless art and low-slung sofas.

Bob Gussin is perched in a brown leather chair and doesn’t rise. “Hi there. Pat’s at the office, trying to help the FBI track the crypto, so today it’s just me and Kiki.”

Theresa sees the ravages of the past several days on his face. He is florid by nature, with dark circles under his brown eyes and thin gray hair. He wears thick glasses, and his shoulders are caved in with age.

The woman—Kiki—offers them either Scotch or sweet mint tea, warm and fragrant, and they both accept the tea. Bob takes the Scotch.

Thus far, Pat and Bob Gussin have been their savants. They’ve been cooperative and helpful. They showed Drake’s team all the records, made all of TGG’s financials available. They’ve been easy to talk to, knowledgeable, and able to explain the money in layman’s terms. They also love Andrew Locke completely. Theresa gets the sense he’s like a son to them. And that thought is rewarded when Bob kicks off the meeting.

“You realize, turning Trey over to the FBI for embezzlement was the worst moment of my life.”

“So why did you do it?” she asks.

He swirls the brown liquid around the heavy crystal lowball. “You have to understand, having Trey in our lives was a true joy, for all of us. We know you have a different relationship with him—we’ve heard about his first wife and child’s deaths. What a terrible shame. God rest their souls.” He crosses himself, and Theresa sips her tea, waiting. “Why he would kill them . . . I can’t begin to understand where Trey’s head is right now.”

“Why don’t you tell us about your relationship with him?” she suggests.

“Well, we first met when Brooklyn brought him back from Mexico. It was a bit of a shock, honestly. She was pregnant, they’d married in Argentina after traveling all over Mexico and South America, but boy, he made her happy. They were inseparable. Now I understand better that he was on his second chance. I’m in finance. Everything we do is about second chances. Or thirds, or fourths. I’ve seen people lose their fortunes only to remake them a month later. Trey needed a chance to remake himself after Chloe’s death, and Brooklyn gave him that.”

“And you gave him a job when they came back to the States?” Drake asks.

“Oh, yes. I saw right away what a mind he had on him. I sent him to Wharton to refine it and then put him to work. Helped them buy the house in Franklin and got them on their feet as a young family.”