Enigma (FBI Thriller #21)(16)
As he spoke, Ollie handed Mr. Bowler a sheet of paper. “You’ll recognize these two names because they’re your clients. Both of these individuals are under investigation for money laundering for MS-13, the Salvadoran drug cartel. The federal prosecutor seems to think you were involved, and he’s working hard to nail it down. That doesn’t put you in a very good position. Disbarment, prison—more than enough to motivate you to cooperate with us. If you do, we’re sure the federal prosecutor would be willing to close his file on your involvement.
“Now’s the time to show good faith. Who were you really representing, Mr. Bowler? Who paid you to broker a deal with Liam Hennessey?”
Mrs. Bowler said, contempt in her voice, “There are no charges against us, and if there ever are, they’ll be proved groundless. We are a reputable firm.”
Ruth ignored her. “Mr. Bowler, you have to know that when we apprehend Mr. Hennessey, he will tell us in great detail how you helped facilitate his escape. He will throw you under the bus without any hesitation. And if he should die instead, you can be sure we’ll investigate you until we find every piece of dirt hidden under your expensive carpets. We’ll investigate your clients until they realize you are a liability. I doubt your Russian clients, in particular, will be pleased with you, and I hear they’re not known for their forbearance.”
Mr. Bowler’s Adam’s apple worked frantically above his Gucci tie. Ruth leaned forward. “You wouldn’t do well in prison, Mr. Bowler. You are not a young man. You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself against the predators. For your own sake, you should tell us the name of the person who hired you to broker the deal with Hennessey.”
Mrs. Bowler laid her small hand on her husband’s arm. “Ignore her, Duce.” She whirled back to face them, her palms flattened on the table. “You will listen to me, Agent Noble. My husband did not broker any deal. Hennessey is a resourceful man. He obviously had ways to reach his cohorts on the outside. My husband had nothing to do with Mr. Hennessey’s escape.”
The double doors flew open. “Mother? What is going on here? What is Kendrick going on about?”
Ollie and Ruth turned to see a young Amazon stride into the conference room like a force of nature. She was six feet tall, with long dark brown hair clipped away from her face, strong sharp features, not above thirty. She was the image of her father, and the third Bowler listed in the firm name. They’d know quickly enough if she was her mother’s daughter.
Ruth knew exactly who she was, but she asked, “And who are you?”
“I am Magda Bowler.” A sculpted eyebrow went up. “And you are?”
Ruth and Ollie introduced themselves and put their creds in her outstretched hand. She studied them closely, handed them back. “Why are you here?”
Ruth said, “We are questioning your father about his arrangements with Manta Ray—Liam Hennessey.”
“You are wasting your time. We no longer represent Mr. Hennessey. I’m sure my parents already told you that. I came in to put an end to your harassment.”
Ruth smiled at her. “Trust me, you do not know what harassment is.” She flashed a look at Mrs. Bowler. “There are no nail salons in prison, Mrs. Bowler. As I’m sure you already know, the person who hired you is dangerous. You and your husband will want to think about this very seriously, before it’s too late.”
“Too late?” Magda Bowler planted herself in front of them, hanging on to her control by a thread. “I don’t like your threats, especially after you’ve already proven yourselves incompetent by letting Hennessey escape.”
“Magda, come here!” Her mother’s voice drew her up short. So Mrs. Bowler did drive the family bus.
Ruth and Ollie watched Magda Bowler walk stiffly to stand between her parents. The three of them stared silently after Ruth and Ollie as they left the conference room, shooting death rays between their shoulder blades. Ruth said to Ollie as they walked past Marie Antoinette’s bust, “Mr. Bowler’s ready to break. He’s scared.”
“You know what I think?” Ollie gave Kendrick a wave as they walked out of the offices, to the elevator. Once inside, he said, “I don’t think Mr. Bowler ever believed his off-the-books client would be able to break Manta Ray out of federal custody. Are all three of them in on it? It’s hard to imagine that Mr. Bowler acted by himself. You’re right, Ruth. If any of them break, it’ll be him.”
She pulled out her cell, dialed Savich. “If that’s true, Ollie, we should get some surveillance on Bowler. Who knows? Maybe we shook him up enough so he’ll schedule a meet with whoever hired him.”
8
WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
MONDAY AFTERNOON
Kara Moody could hardly believe how giddy she felt when she held her son, Alex. Suddenly everything made sense; her life had purpose. She was happy, excited about the future. She hadn’t felt anything like it in a very long time.
In the past year, her life had flown out of control, and she’d floundered and questioned everything, turned herself into an emotional fruitcake. She could admit it to herself without rancor because none of that mattered now. There was no doubt in her mind her decisions to keep Alex and leave Baltimore were the best decisions she’d made in her life. She had no friends who really understood her choices. As for Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Carl, they only saw she was alone and pregnant, and treated her like a scandalous teenager from thirty years ago. They’d wanted her to have an abortion, as did most of her friends, and she’d broken with them, no choice. As for her mother, she now lived in Oregon with her husband and two children, and they rarely spoke. Kara couldn’t imagine her caring one way or the other.