The Match (Wilde, #2)(60)

Wilde considered that. “Did McAndrews do more than corporate work?”

“Meaning?”

“I assume some clients wanted to trash people rather than corporations.”

“Since the beginning of time,” Oren said. “Why do you ask?”

“When you look up Peter Bennett,” Wilde said, “you will see how many trolls swarmed his social media site, destroying his reputation, enflaming his former fans. Whenever the scandal would die down, these trolls would return and reignite them. A lot of the hate being leveled at Bennett was amplified by Henry McAndrews’s army of bots.”

“So someone was targeting this Bennett?”

“Yes.”

“And they hired McAndrews to do it?”

“Could be.”

“How did you figure out it was McAndrews?”

“That’s confidential. It won’t help to find his killer.”

“Sure, it will,” Oren countered. “Clearly McAndrews wasn’t as good at hiding his identity as he thought. You figured it out. Not to be obvious, but if you could track down McAndrews’s identity, so could Peter Bennett. And who’d have more reason to be angry at McAndrews than him?”

“Maybe,” Wilde allowed. “Look, Oren, I need the name of whoever hired McAndrews to trash Peter Bennett.”

“Assuming someone did hire McAndrews for that purpose—and that’s a somewhat big assumption—there may be an issue with getting you that information.”

“What’s the issue?” Wilde asked.

“One of McAndrews’s sons is an attorney. For an extra layer of security, McAndrews claimed all that he did was legal work product, so it would fall under attorney-client privilege. The clients didn’t pay him directly—they got billed by his son’s law firm.” Oren looked at him hard. “You see, some people take advantage of the rules surrounding attorney-client. Some people will twist the spirit of that clause in a way some may find unethical.”

“One of us is the bad guy here, Oren. And it’s not me.”

That landed. The two men stayed there for a moment, not moving.

“Did anyone report Peter Bennett missing to the police?” Oren asked.

“His sister may have, but I don’t think anyone looked into it. At the end of the day, he’s an adult who took off. There was no hint of foul play.”

“Until now,” Oren said. Then: “Thank you, Wilde. I appreciate your cooperation. I’ll look into all this. And I’ll help you as much as I can. We both want to find Peter Bennett.”

Oren’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID.

“Shit. It’s Hester.”

Wilde rose. There was more to say to Oren, about how Oren had let Wilde down, how Wilde had considered Oren one of the few people in this world he could trust, how that trust was now shattered for good. But now was not the time. He headed for the door.

“You better answer it.”





Chapter

Twenty-Three



Wilde grabbed another burner from one of his lockboxes and called Laila.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“If you hadn’t managed to call me—”

“I’d be fine,” Wilde said. “They just wanted to scare me.”

“Please don’t do that, Wilde.”

“Do what?”

“I heard them tackle you and then, poof, the phone went dead. Don’t insult me with platitudes.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you for calling Hester.”

“Of course.”

Wilde said, “I know you wanted to have a talk tonight…”

“Are you serious? Not after what happened. I’m still shaking.”

“If it’s all the same, I think I’ll just go to the capsule and get some sleep.”

“No, Wilde.”

“No?”

“We won’t talk,” Laila said. “We won’t fuck either. But I need you here. I need to hold you tonight or I won’t be able to sleep, okay?”

Wilde nodded, even though he knew no one was watching. He just needed that second. “I’m on my way, Laila.”

*



Early the next morning, Wilde stood on Amsterdam Avenue between 72nd and 73rd Street, watching Marnie Cassidy, Jenn’s sister, the one who’d leveled the most serious allegations against Peter Bennett on the Reality Ralph podcast, sitting in the window booth at the Utopia Diner across the street. She was having breakfast with what Wilde assumed was a friend. Marnie was animated and smiley and gestured maniacally.

Rola said, “Marnie looks annoying as hell.”

Wilde nodded.

“She looks like she thinks she’s just so much fun and crazy and yells ‘woo woo’ on the dance floor.”

Wilde nodded again.

“She looks like a buddy’s irritating girlfriend who insists on joining the boys at the sports bar and she dresses in full football gear and puts on eye black and spends the entire game cheering too loudly until you want to punch her in the face.”

Wilde turned and looked at Rola. Rola shrugged. “That kind pisses me off.”

“I guess.”