No Way Back(Jack McNeal #1)(49)

“Well, that’s just great. Let’s be philosophical. That’ll fix everything.”

Feinstein flushed, seeming embarrassed. “I mean we need to draw a line in the sand and work this problem.”

“How about another strategy? How about we neutralize Jack McNeal?”

“I think that would be desirable.”

Graff turned back to the window. “Good. I’m feeling better already.”

“We need to get into his life. Who is he?”

Graff balled his fist. “Everyone has a tipping point. What is he prepared to put up with? Is he prepared to walk away if his world becomes threatened? Things that matter to him? His job? Family?”

“His wife’s dead. But he has family. A father. A brother.”

“What about reaching out to our sources within the NYPD?”

Feinstein cracked a smile. “I’m already on that side of things. But this guy has friends. He knows people. So does his cop brother.”

Graff pointed at her. “Figure it out. No more surprises. Let’s turn the screw on this fucker. I want him out of my life for good.”





Thirty-Three

McNeal’s visit to Graff wouldn’t go unnoticed. He knew that. He had crossed the line. They would now try and get into his life. But he had found Graff fascinating—cold but fascinating. He had put himself firmly on Graff’s radar. It might have been foolish. It might have been reckless. But it would provoke a response.

He thought again about what Caroline had said to the psychologist. She was being stalked. There was a prowler. She had to have reported it to the cops. He needed to know more—a lot more. Ideally he could have reached out to people he knew and trusted. But his position within the Internal Affairs Bureau meant he had to be cleaner than clean.

He thought about whether he should reach out to Sam Daniels again. But what he wanted meant Sam having to access DC police databases. If Sam didn’t have a good reason, he could easily be suspended or fired.

McNeal knew better than anyone that cops who crossed that line by trying to access confidential police databases about ex-wives or partners were routinely disciplined. Sometimes fired. He had investigated scores of such cases in the past couple of years.

McNeal knew one person who might be able to help. He pulled up O’Brien’s name from his cell phone. It rang five times before the familiar, gruff voice answered.

“Hello, Jack.”

McNeal explained the latest twist in his investigation. “So, I need another favor.”

“Call in as many as you like, son. It’s not a problem.”

“I’ve got a delicate situation I need handling.”

“I’m listening.”

“I need a cop in DC to access a police database. It’s risky.”

“I know people. What exactly do you want?”

“I want someone to access the Metropolitan Police Department of the District of Columbia files. I want to know what they have on the prowler incidents around the home of my late wife.”

“I know someone in Robbery there. A nephew of a friend.”

“I don’t want your guy to get collared for this.”

“You know as well as I do there are risks in everything. I pay well. Cops do this sort of stuff all the time. It’s only a problem if there’s an audit. Millions of inquiries every day through local and state databases, in addition to the FBI’s National Crime and Information Center.”

“I don’t want you trying to access the Fed stuff.”

“I understand.”

“I’m looking to see if the police had any reports of a prowler, and if so, what did they find out? I want a name.”

When McNeal had packed his bag once again, about to drive back north, he remembered that he meant to stop by Caroline’s house in the city. He had forgotten all about that in the craziness since her death. He could decide later what he was going to do with it.

McNeal had keys to the property. He had the four-digit access code to deactivate the alarm. He decided to head on over to what was now his Georgetown townhouse.

He left his hotel and walked the six blocks. He stood admiring the beautiful old colonial row house sitting in the oldest part of the city. It had existed since before DC even existed.

He stared at the black front door. He thought of how many times Caroline would have opened the door after a long day covering politics on Capitol Hill.

He took out the key and unlocked the door. He headed inside. A pile of mail lay strewn behind the door.

A few beeps warned him that he had just a few seconds before the alarm went off.

McNeal punched in the four-digit code to deactivate the alarm. He walked down the polished corridor and into the kitchen. Everything neat and clean, as she would have left it. It felt strange to be in her home. It wasn’t their home. It was hers. At least that’s how he thought of it.

He was humbled and so sad that she had left it to him. It was no use to him without her.

McNeal had too much on his mind to worry about owning such a prestigious property. He headed into the bedroom. There, he saw photos of himself and Caroline on their wedding day. Three small stones on top of each other, beside her bed. He ran his fingers over them, assuming they were stones from Compo Beach. Caroline had loved rock balancing with Patrick. He was touched that she had taken a small piece of the beach to her new home. Maybe as a reminder of what had been.